


To Serve Malfoy

by VivacissimoVoce



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Death Eaters, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Humor, Insanity, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Malfoy Manor, Master/Servant, Post-Hogwarts, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-10
Updated: 2014-10-10
Packaged: 2018-02-20 14:01:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 44,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2431439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VivacissimoVoce/pseuds/VivacissimoVoce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry loses a wager with Draco, which means he must spend the summer at Malfoy Manor as Draco’s personal servant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All rights belong to J.K. Rowling. I do not claim any ownership of the characters or settings contained within. This story is for entertainment only and is not part of the official story line.
> 
> This was originally intended to be a short writing exercise that played on the classic fiction cliche where one character must serve another. But as I explored it the power dynamics between Harry and Draco intrigued me and it grew into a full length piece. It's also notable that this is only the second Drarry I ever wrote, right after Becoming Us.

Harry was going to be sick. He was going to pass out. He was going to scream something terribly profane. Actually, he wasn’t going to do any of those things because he was too shocked to move, to think, to speak. It was the worst day of his life.

“This is the best day of my life,” a voice penetrated the murky jumble of confused thoughts rattling around his head.

Harry turned and looked to Hermione, then Ron, then Neville, then Luna, then Ginny for help. Their stunned expressions told him that there was no help to give.

“Don’t look at them, Potter, you signed a Blood Oath,” the snide, triumphant voice penetrated the fog again. Draco Malfoy tapped Harry’s shoulder to refocus his attention. He pointed to the parchment, signed in blood, that was pinned to a tree with Blaise Zabini’s pocketknife. Greg Goyle laughed crudely.

“What are you going to do with him, Draco?” Goyle asked, relishing his housemate’s victory.

“Exactly as the contract says,” Malfoy smirked. “He’s going to be my personal servant for the summer. Everything I say, he’ll do. Isn’t that right, Potter?”

Harry couldn’t speak. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He wasn’t supposed to lose.

“Harry,” Hermione spoke up. “You have to do it. It’s a Blood Oath.”

Harry would have done anything for a Time-Turner at that moment. If he could just go back one hour he could prevent himself from making the mistake that had landed him in his current predicament. But as it was it looked like he had no choice. He would be living with, and waiting on Draco Malfoy for the next three months.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

It had started on the afternoon that the N.E.W.T. results were posted. The seventh-year and seventh-year-repeats all clustered around the entrance to the great hall to see how they had placed. Harry’s scores were excellent across the board, which meant his dream of becoming an Auror was still viable. Hermione’s perfection was no surprise, and Ron’s sufficient performance meant he would be joining Harry in Auror training, too.

“Out of the way,” Goyle shoved Harry and Ron aside and found his name on the door. He squinted, frowned, and then shrugged.

“Not what you’d hoped, eh?” Malfoy shouldered up next to him, pushing Harry and his friends further aside. “Brilliant, I did even better than I expected.” He turned and beamed in Harry’s direction. “Maybe I’ll join you at the Academy, Potter. My scores say I made the grade.”

“They would never let you in, Malfoy,” Harry glowered. “They don’t accept traitors.”

“Then it's lucky I was cleared of all charges,” Malfoy’s eyes darkened. “Something you’d do well to remember.”

Harry stood his ground. He had grown during their eighth year, which meant the blond Slytherin boy was barely an inch taller now, but Malfoy stood straight to maximize his stature and glare haughtily down his nose at his rival.

“Let’s go, Draco,” Goyle tugged his sleeve and nodded in the direction of the dungeon.

“Now wait a second,” he shook his arm free. He stepped clear of the clamoring throng of students but maintained his distance to the Gryffindor trio. “What do you say we end this rivalry once and for all, Potter?”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked suspiciously.

“I mean it’s the last week of school, all that’s left is the End of Term Feast, and then that’s it,” Malfoy explained. “There’s a chance we’ll never see each other again, a future I am very much looking forward to, I should add,” he bared his teeth in a sickly sweet grin. “So this may be our last chance to prove which one of us is the superior wizard.”

“In case you hadn’t heard,” Ron spoke up at Harry’s elbow, “Harry defeated the greatest dark wizard that ever lived. Unless you’ve done the same, I think we all know who’s superior.”

“Scared of a challenge, Potter?” Malfoy taunted.

“Why now?” Harry shook his head. “We haven’t spoken all year, Malfoy. I thought this bad blood was behind us. Since, you know, everything happened.”

“Perhaps,” Malfoy shrugged, acknowledging that he and Harry hadn’t locked horns since their encounter in the Room of Requirement the previous year. “But seven years of competition deserves a suitable closure, does it not?”

“I suppose,” Harry thought there was some logic in his words.

“Harry, don’t,” Hermione warned.

“How about a race?” Draco gazed out through the high, lofted windows at the clear June day outside. “The winner determines the loser’s fate.”

“I can decide what happens to you when you lose?” Harry clarified.

“If, Potter,” Draco wagged his finger warningly. “If.”

“Let’s do it,” Harry agreed.

That had been his first mistake, agreeing to the race. His second mistake was agreeing to choose each other’s fates. The third was committing it to paper. That’s where he really should have stopped.

It was Luna who had inadvertently suggested the Blood Oath. She hadn’t meant to suggest it, she had just mentioned it in a roundabout way. It was Blaise who had joined them on their way out who had heard her comment and recommended it to Draco. And it was Draco who had been brave enough to agree to the terms first, which meant Harry had to agree or end up looking like a coward. Maybe that was his third mistake, assuming that refusing the ridiculous notion of a blood oath would make him look cowardly. In any event, signing it in his own blood was certainly the biggest mistake.

Neville wrote out the contract in his beautifully flowing penmanship.

Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter do solemnly swear to complete the agreed upon race course with integrity and proper sportsmanship. The winner of said race will invoke one of the two following outcomes:

1: If Harry Potter should win, Draco Malfoy must relocate to France for the summer, and may not return for any reason until Autumn, and may not apply to the Auror Academy for training.

2: If Draco Malfoy should win, Harry Potter must submit to employment as a personal servant at Draco Malfoy’s command, and live in residence at Malfoy Manor until Autumn.

The two boys signed in blood. Draco had just celebrated his nineteenth birthday and Harry’s nineteenth was approaching next month. They were well past legal age for the Oath to be binding. Their blood glowed like lava as they smeared their signatures across the parchment, sealing their obligation to fulfill the requirements once the race was done.

Harry thought it sounded airtight. Draco would go away, no chance of running into him at a Quidditch match or on the streets of Hogsmeade, and he would be unable to join up with Auror training, although Harry didn’t think he actually intended to do so anyway. And as far as Malfoy’s stipulation, it was not only absurd and far-fetched, it was unlikely to happen. Harry was as fast as they came on broomstick. Luna speculated his chance of losing was equal to finding a single grain of sand in an entire desert. Not mathematical odds, but a lovely thought nonetheless.

Draco and Harry argued about the race course and finally agreed on a circuitous path that would take them around the perimeter of the school, out over the lake, across the Forbidden Forest, and finally back to their starting point. Ron and Goyle paired off and flew the course themselves to mark the way with luminescent streamers that would keep them from cutting corners. Then Harry and Draco mounted their brooms and steadied themselves. Blaise counted off and fired a shower of sparks into the air to start the race. The two rivals took off like a shot.

Harry wasn’t sure at what point everything went wrong. He lapped the school with a solid lead, then crossed the lake with Draco gaining but still at his heels. It was somewhere over the Forbidden Forest, just before the final leg to the finish, that he lost ground and Draco shot ahead. He gritted his teeth and leaned into the wind, trying to force a surge of speed out of his broomstick when he realized the finish line was approaching faster than he could close the gap. It wasn’t even a photo finish, Draco Malfoy solidly won by as much as half a broom length.

That was when Malfoy’s friends cheered, and that was when Harry realized what had happened, and that was when he thought he might vomit or pass out or scream profanities. His friends could offer him no help, because there was no help to give. He had signed the bloody contract, he was obligated to fulfill its terms.

“I have a lease on a flat with Ron,” Harry said, his voice stunned. “I can’t back out now.”

“Lucky for you I’m a generous man,” Draco said smugly. “I’ll pay your half of the rent until your term of duty is up.”

“But--” Harry tried another excuse.

“Harry,” Hermione shook her head, her jumble of curls bouncing about her shoulders, “It’s a Blood Oath. You have to do it.”

Harry stared at her again. If anyone could think of a way out, it was Hermione. Conversely, if Hermione couldn’t think of a way out, there was none. He turned back to Draco and saw the gloating grin on his rival’s face. An entire summer, he thought.

“Bollocks.”


	2. Chapter 2

Harry returned to the Gryffindor common room with his friends, too stunned to think straight. Ron and Neville braced him on either side to keep him from stumbling into doorways or on stairs. He couldn’t wrap his head around what was about to happen. Was he really going to move into Malfoy Manor? Was he really going to have to wait on his mortal enemy hand and foot? What kind of nightmare was this?

Hermione took pity on him and helped him pack. His hands moved in slow-motion as he folded his clothes and stowed them in his trunk. He kept stopping and looking to her with a question on his lips that never fully formed. She looked miserable, too, which didn’t help the growing sense of doom in the pit of his stomach.

He drifted semi-consciously through the End of Term Feast and didn’t even notice who won the House Cup. He stared at his plate, his head full of woe, and tried not to look up whenever he heard Malfoy’s arrogant laugh rise above the clamor of the student body.

He spent his last night at Hogwarts lying in bed, wide-eyed and anxious, staring at the ceiling and wondering what tomorrow would be like. Tomorrow they would board the train and ride back to King’s Cross Station. When they arrived, would Malfoy really follow through with their agreement? Or would he let Harry slink away with Ron, ashamed and defeated?

He hoped for the latter, but deep down inside he knew it would be the former.

The next morning the students gathered their belongings and toted them down to the train. Harry exited with his house, his trunk levitating along behind him like a balloon on a tether. He hoped to blend in, to make it to the train without incident. But no such luck.

“Potter!” Malfoy’s voice rang out behind him. He flinched and turned. Draco was standing at the top of the steps at the entrance of the school, two rather large trunks beside him. “Today you are my porter, Potter,” he laughed at his own play on words.

“Sod off, Malfoy,” Harry shot back, then turned to catch up with his friends. Just then a searing hot pain shot up his spine and dropped him to his knees.

“Harry!” Hermione turned and ran back to him. “Are you okay?”

“No,” Harry gasped, sweat pouring down his brow. They looked up at Malfoy, who was still standing on the top step. To Harry’s surprise, Draco looked shocked, not pleased, at his collapse.

“What happened?” Malfoy asked, his voice less confident than before.

“It’s the Blood Oath,” Hermione glared at him. “You ordered him to carry your bags. He can’t refuse.”

Draco’s brow furrowed worriedly. He looked at his trunks and back down at Harry. “If he does it, the pain will stop, right?”

“Harry, you have to get up,” Hermione whispered in his ear.

“Get up, Potter,” Draco’s voice turned sharp again. “No need to torture yourself.”

Harry grimaced and climbed to his feet. As he stood the pain in his back lessened. As he turned to face Malfoy it disappeared. He ducked his head and realized he had no choice but to obey. He reluctantly walked up the steps and cast his levitation charm at Draco’s trunks, then towed them back down to float beside his own.

“Smashing,” Draco grinned and skipped down the steps after him. He walked beside Harry and clapped his arm good-naturedly around his shoulders. “It’s going to be a great summer.”


	3. Chapter 3

They boarded the train and Harry helped Malfoy secure his luggage. As he turned to exit the compartment in search of his friends, Malfoy stopped him with a command.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He asked, his eyebrow raised.

“I was going to go sit with Ron and Hermione,” Harry said as though it should be obvious.

“You’re staying here, in case I need anything during the trip,” Malfoy sat gracefully and propped his feet up on the opposing seat.

“Come on, Malfoy,” Harry tried to step out of the compartment but a burning pain shot through his foot. “It’s our last trip. Let me go sit with my friends.”

Draco said nothing in response. He closed his eyes and tipped his head back as though settling in for a nap. Unable to leave, Harry relented and flopped onto the seat next to Malfoy’s feet. A smirk passed across Malfoy’s lips as the train blew its whistle and jolted heavily as it set off for King’s Cross.

Harry glowered at his peaceful repose. “Why do you even want me here?” he demanded. “Where are your friends?”

“I told them to piss off,” Malfoy said without opening his eyes. “I wanted some peace and quiet for once.”

“Then why do you want me here?”

“I just do, okay?” Draco cracked one eye open. “In case I need anything,” he added.

Harry cursed under his breath and rolled his eyes. He smacked Draco’s feet down and slid over to the window. Draco sighed laboriously and shifted his legs to stretch out lengthwise on the bench seat.

Harry leaned up against the glass and watched the familiar landscape slide by, thinking wistfully that he would never see these hills from this train again. He would never again huddle with his friends and unwrap chocolate frogs and other sweets their families had secreted away in their bags. There would be no more gossiping about classmates and looking forward to new classes, and no more Quidditch victories to predict. He traced a line on the fogged glass with the tip of his finger and thought about all of the familiar things from the past eight years that would never happen again.

“You’re not getting sappy on me, are you, Potter?”

Harry snapped back to the present. He looked up and met Draco’s eyes. His expression was wary, almost unsure whether to mock or jeer.

“It doesn’t bother you at all?” Harry asked. “This is our last time leaving Hogwarts. We’re never going back. You should feel something.”

“I do,” Draco looked out of the window. “Relief.”

“You’re not going to miss any of it?”

“Bits and pieces, maybe,” Draco shrugged. “But for the most part, no.”

“Bollocks,” Harry sneered. “You loved being the boss of Slytherin house. You loved every chance you got to show anyone up, to rat anyone out.”

“True,” Malfoy smiled introspectively. “But I wouldn’t say I enjoyed it enough.”

“Enough for what?”

“Just enough,” his smile disappeared. He closed his eyes and leaned back and was silent for the rest of the trip.

At King’s Cross Station Malfoy generously allowed Harry a moment to hug his friends goodbye. He would be seeing them again, so the sorrow was mostly symbolic. Word had spread about the Blood Oath, so many of the goodbyes ended with words of sympathy and encouragement. Malfoy stood near the station exit with their trunks loaded onto a trolley and checked his pocket watch impatiently.

When the last of Harry’s friends had departed with their families, he knew his time was up. There was no stopping the inevitable. He turned and trudged to the luggage trolley and grasped it with one hand. A grin spread across Malfoy’s face.

“Good show, Potter,” he said approvingly, and nodded for Harry to follow him out to the curb.


	4. Chapter 4

Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy were nowhere to be seen. For as long as Harry could remember, Draco had been dropped off and picked up by his coldly reserved parents. Not this year. A sleek black limousine pulled up to the curb and Draco climbed into the back. Harry struggled to hoist all three trunks into the improbably large boot, which was somehow roomier on the inside than the outside. Draco’s trunks were absurdly heavy, and he was barely able to push them over the lip of the compartment. He finally got the last one in and slammed the boot shut.

“For Merlin’s sake, Potter, are you getting in or not?” Malfoy called from the back seat.

Harry climbed in and wiped the perspiration off of his brow. He noticed suddenly that the driver seat was empty. From the outside it had appeared as though a capped driver sat behind the wheel, but from the inside the illusion was revealed. He nervously hoped they could trust a self-piloting car.

Draco was sipping an iced drink from a cut crystal glass. He leaned forward and tapped the panel between the passenger area and the driver’s compartment. A little door flipped down and a chilled drink service chamber slid forward.

“Help yourself,” Draco nodded dismissively. He sipped again, then stretched his legs languidly and closed his eyes as the limousine pulled away. His white blond hair was perfectly coiffed and his clothes were smooth and neat. He didn’t look like someone who had just finished an all day train ride. He must have freshened up while Harry grappled with his luggage.

Harry was concerned at first that he would spill, until the car turned a corner and he realized nothing had shifted. The interior was charmed to prevent the movement of the wheels from disturbing the passengers. Quite a nice feature, he thought. He picked his way through the assorted bottles of spirits but didn’t recognize any of the labels.

“That one’s good,” Malfoy said. He had cracked one eye open and was watching Harry closely. “Best served neat,” he added, then closed his eye again.

Harry poured two fingers of the luminescent red liquid into a glass and sipped carefully. It was warm and rich as it washed over his tongue and down his throat. As it hit his stomach the warmth spread out through his whole body, all the way to his fingertips and toes.

“Whoa,” he breathed, and a jet of orange flame burst forth from his mouth. He jumped back and nearly dropped his glass. Malfoy’s hand swept in and steadied his hand so he wouldn’t spill.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never tried Brandyflame before,” he sounded surprised.

Harry shook his head, afraid he would breathe fire again if he spoke.

“Relax, it only happens once per sip,” Draco released the glass and sat back with a shake of his head. “Honestly, you’re so working class sometimes.”

Harry glared at him and sipped again. He took a moment to appreciate the delicious warmth that washed throughout his body, then leaned forward and put his face near the other boy’s. “You’re right, it is good,” he said, fire shooting from his mouth as he spoke. Malfoy jumped to avoid the flame and thumped his head against the window. Harry laughed and sat back in his seat.

“Very funny,” Malfoy winced and rubbed his temple.

The car wound its way through the city streets and eventually out into the outskirts of town and finally into rolling, pastoral countryside. To pass the time Harry shuffled through the myriad of bottles in the drink service compartment and tried to guess what each beverage offered. Draco played along, putting on a bored air that Harry didn’t quite believe. Many of the drinks were intended to impart only intoxication, but several offered additional features like fire breath, glowing body parts, semi-invisibility, double or triple vision, x-ray vision, and sexual arousal.

“Don’t tell me you need this,” Harry scoffed as he hefted the bottle of viscous pink fluid with a half-naked lady on the label.

“Of course not,” Malfoy snatched it away and stowed it back in the bottle caddy. “It’s a standard assortment. It comes with all of these.”

“Then why is it only half full?” Harry asked coyly.

“I wouldn’t know!” Malfoy was outraged at his implication. “When would I have used it anyway? I’ve been at school all year.”

“Sure,” Harry held his grin, knowing it was driving the other boy crazy.

“You’d better watch yourself,” Draco composed himself and shot Harry a sidelong glance. “Or I’ll slip some of that into your tea and lock you in a room with a house elf.”

Harry grimaced and dropped the subject. He’d managed to distract himself from what was happening, but Draco’s comment reminded him of their destination. He would be spending the next three months working alongside serving staff and elves, carrying out orders as commanded.

It took more than two hours to get from the train station to Wiltshire, but Harry would have doubled it if he could. As the limo pulled up the lengthy drive to the mansion he wondered if he could jump from the moving car before the pain of the Blood Oath stopped him.

The car circled around a grand fountain and stopped at the base of the stairs that led into the house. Draco didn't exit immediately. He sat forward and peered through the window as though waiting to see if anyone would emerge to greet him. He didn't seem to relish the thought. He took a deep breath and set his mouth in a grim line, and Harry wondered if he even remembered he was there.

The car door swung open on its own and Draco stepped out. He cocked his head as though listening, then finally gestured for Harry to follow.

"Get the bags," he said curtly, his attention focused intensely on the immense, ornate front doors.

Harry was unnerved. There was clearly something wrong, something anxiety-inducing that hadn't yet manifested. He quickly opened the boot and wrestled the three trunks out onto the pavement. He cast his levitation charm and tugged them along behind him to the base of the stairs, where Draco was waiting with visible trepidation.

"What's with you?" he couldn't keep the hostile tone out of his voice. If Malfoy was just messing with him to jangle his nerves even more than they were, he would hex him through the nearest wall.

"Nothing," Malfoy said. He shook his head to correct himself. "You'll see."

He trudged up the stairs and palmed the door open. It swung inward heavily, revealing a darkened interior. Harry quailed, unwilling to step into the darkness. He had been here once before in darkness. It wasn't an experience he felt particularly inclined to repeat.

"Iris!" Draco's imperious voice bellowed as he entered. "Why are the sodding drapes drawn? It's the middle of the day, for Merlin's sake!" He stepped back outside and gazed angrily down at Harry, who still stood frozen in the drive with the luggage. "Potter! Get in here and help open the drapes."

Harry did as he was told. He skipped up the stairs and stepped inside, towing the trunks behind him.

"In there," Malfoy pointed distractedly at the front parlor and marched through the foyer to the rear of the house.

Harry left the trunks and looked around in wonder. The parlor was grand, extending up two storeys with windows that stretched from floor to ceiling. Stonework was evident in all of the walls and structural columns, not a soft surface anywhere to be seen. The furnishings were ornate, richly carved and gilt wherever possible. Even the seating, the multitude of sofas and chairs and fainting couches and ottomans clustered in conversational groupings throughout the vast space, had a hard edge to them, as though the cushioning were purely for show. Candelabra sconces adorned the walls between windows and artwork, their flickering light somehow creating a sense of heaviness instead of the warm glow one would expect. The waning afternoon sunlight tried its best to peek around the long silken window dressings, but the thin slivers that showed added nothing to the illumination.

Harry wasn’t sure how to go about opening the drapes. The hardware was well outside of reach and tugging from the bottom failed to budge the heavy bronze rings. He cast a Lumos charm and crept through the room, looking for a tool that could help. At the far end of the parlor, beside an enormous stone fireplace, he found a rickety looking broomstick hanging on the wall. The handle was crooked and knotted and the bristles were birch twigs, gathered with twine that had faded and frayed with age.

He snatched the broom down from its hooks and mounted it straight away. Leaning forward he lifted off and sailed slowly, wobblingly toward the ceiling. It wasn’t the most secure ride he’d ever experienced but it worked. He reached for the first set of bronze rings and tugged, and happily they slid across the mahogany rod without protest. He grasped the other side and drew the opposite panels back. Light flooded the room as Harry congratulated himself for his quick thinking. He sailed slowly to the next set of windows and drew the panels aside, letting in even more light. To his relief the darkened space seemed perfectly normal, it didn’t repel light or make terrible noises or smoke when the sun struck its interior. He floated over to the third set of windows and reached for a ring.

“What in the name of Salazar Slytherin are you doing, Potter?” Draco stood in the doorway, blond head tipped up and staring in disbelief at his classmate. “Is that my great grandfather’s broom? Get down here this instant!”

Harry descended unsteadily and planted his feet on the floor a few paces away from the outraged boy. “There wasn’t any way to reach the rings,” he said falteringly.

“That broom is a family heirloom,” Draco snatched it out of Harry’s hand and marched it back over to the wall hooks. He turned scornfully and pointed at the nearest candelabra. “Are you totally ignorant of how these work?” he asked. He waved a hand and the candles extinguished. As if on command, the adjacent drapes obediently opened.

“Oh,” Harry was embarrassed. Of course there was a simple way to do it, he couldn’t imagine the Malfoys rocketing around the house on brooms every time they wanted to let a little light in.

Draco gave him a pitying look and smirked. “I can’t decide if this is going to be a horrible summer or the most fun I’ve ever had.” He turned and strode back towards the foyer, “Now come on, we have to find my father.”

Harry could think of nothing he wanted to do less. But he followed obediently, passing through room after room of overwrought furnishings, all cast into darkness by the closed drapes. He caught glimpses of shadowed figures dashing furtively about, extinguishing candles and letting in the sun. It was a huge task, given the size of the place. They entered a tremendous dining room, with a table that could seat two dozen guests and a fireplace that was as big as an automobile. Great gloomy chandeliers hung dourly over the place settings, which glistened and shone in the crackling firelight. Harry couldn’t imagine why the table needed to be set, or why the fireplace needed to be lit in June.

“Father!” Draco called and then paused to listen for an answer. He continued his search, glancing into a lavish library with a heavy wooden desk at one end. No Lucius. The heels of Draco’s shoes clicked across the dark marble floors as he checked each and every room before giving up and ascending to the second floor.

“Mind the luggage, Potter,” Draco muttered as he climbed.

Harry waved his wand at the trunks and they lifted and floated over to him. He towed them up the stairs to the second floor landing. Draco gestured for him to leave them and waved Harry along behind him.

“Iris hasn’t seen him in two bloody days,” Draco said through clenched teeth. “She said they leave food out for him but they never see him come or go.”

Harry’s heart was pounding. He didn’t understand what was Draco was saying. Lucius Malfoy hardly seemed like the type to sneak around his own house, and certainly not the type to play hide and go seek.

They checked every room again to no avail. They mounted the stairs to the third floor. Draco’s cheeks were flushed and he ground his teeth, seemingly angrier with every empty room. He called for his father now and again, sometimes using his first name to try to elicit a response. At each end of the mansion there was a spiral staircase that led up to a tower room with sprawling vistas of the surrounding countryside. The eastern tower was as vacant as the rest of the house. But at top of the stairs to the western tower Draco came to a halt so suddenly that Harry ran into his back.

“Father.” Draco snapped. Harry was unable to see around him. Draco stepped forward and lit the end of his wand. Harry crested the top of the stairs and caught his first glimpse of the fallen master of Malfoy Manor.

He was crouched on the floor, used dishes and cups stacked around him. Sheafs of parchment littered the floor and several half-empty inkpots punctuated the room. Lucius sat in the midst of the mess and scribbled furiously with his quill, muttering and breathing heavily, totally oblivious to the entrance of his son and the one and only Harry Potter.

The windows were covered with heavy tapestries, rudimentarily held in place with string and Spello-tape. The darkened square room was too warm, too humid and reeked of body odor.

“Father,” Draco said more gently this time, crouching and touching his arm. Lucius jerked back and his eyes snapped up, and he stared at his guests in bewilderment.

“Draco,” he said in a voice that rasped like dry leaves. “What are you doing here?”

“I should ask you the same thing,” Draco’s voice became sharp again. “How long have you been up here?”

Lucius’s brow furrowed and he sincerely seemed unable to answer the question.

“Help me get him downstairs,” Draco glanced over his shoulder. He drew his father’s right arm over his and gestured for Harry to brace his left side. As Harry approached he truly understood the state of decay of Lucius Malfoy.

He was long overdue for a bath, his hair was greasy and matted. His teeth were stained and his fingernails were untrimmed. He wore several robes, one on top of the other, which concealed his gaunt frame that was desperately in need of several good meals. He looked quizzically at Harry as he helped hoist him to his feet.

“Forgive my manners,” he said, his tone taking on a note of formality. “I seem to have forgotten your name.”

“Harry Potter, Father,” Draco sounded annoyed as they shuffled him down the spiral stairs. “You know exactly who he is.”

“Ah, Harry Potter,” Lucius nodded. “Did they ever find your cat?”

“No, Father,” Draco sighed. “Harry bloody Potter. You know who he is.”

“Of course I do,” Lucius agreed. “Please extend my greetings to your father the next time you see him.”

They reached the second floor and hauled Lucius to the master suite. They deposited him on an elegant sofa and Draco called for the housekeeper again. A moment later a tall, angular, middle-aged woman with a permanently etched expression of distaste entered. She wore a black dress with a white frilled collar and white apron. A white cap was nestled amidst a thicket of curly gray hair.

“Iris, my father needs a bath,” he pointed firmly towards the master bathroom. “Restrain him if necessary. Call whatever help you need, but do not come out until he is clean. Brush his sodding teeth, too.”

“Yessir, Master Draco,” Iris replied, her thin, reedy voice restrained and neutral.

“Potter, take my trunks to my suite,” Draco seemed to suddenly remember Harry’s presence. “Down at the other end of the hall. You can’t miss it.”

Harry departed without speaking. He could feel Iris’ eyes on him as he shuffled past her. He wondered if Draco would expect him to report to her over the summer, or if he would have an entirely separate set of duties. He sincerely hoped he would never be asked to bathe Lucius Malfoy.

He retrieved the floating trunks and tugged two of them down the hall, leaving his own behind. As indicated, Draco’s suite was easy to find, behind a pair of sliding doors at the end of the corridor that led into a grandiose space that rivalled the Master suite.

There was an oversized four-poster bed in the middle of the room with lofted windows to either side. Harry quickly extinguished the candelabras to open the drapes, and heaved a sigh of relief as daylight flooded in. There was a seating area to one side that was surrounded by floor-to-ceiling bookcases. A fireplace crackled merrily in spite of the suite’s deserted state, and the ceiling was enchanted to look like a starry night sky. As he gazed upward several comets flared from one end of the room to the other. He released the trunks and canceled the levitation charm, flinching as they clattered noisily to the cold marble floor.

He wasn’t sure what to do next. He sat for a moment on the sofa near the fireplace and looked around at the various items that filled the multitudinous shelves. He stood and approached a bookcase, and trailed his fingers over the titles. He noticed that many of them were on the subject of the Dark Arts. Interestingly, most looked completely untouched, their spines pristine as though they’d never been creased by a curious reader.

He paused at a credenza near the walk-in closet that was crowded with bell jars. Beneath each glass dome was a golden snitch, held aloft by a wire support. Some bore brass plates beneath them that noted this game or that player. Some bore ink signatures scrawled across their glittering surfaces. Some had their wings pinned open, some remained furled. Harry lifted one of the jars and ran his finger across the face of the oldest looking one, wondering whether a snitch could ever feel trapped.

“Careful, that one is four hundred years old.”

Harry juggled the glass dome back into place and stammered an apology. “I wasn’t going to pick it up, I promise.”

Draco smiled with amusement and approached casually. “It’s an interesting collection,” he said. “And I had absolutely nothing to do with the acquisition of any of them.” He laughed to himself and shook his head, “It’s funny, you get a couple as gifts and suddenly everyone thinks that’s what you’re into, so they give you more. After a while you have a collection you never wanted.”

“I would give anything for a collection like this,” Harry said, gazing wistfully at the oldest one.

“Take it,” Draco lifted the dome again and handed it to him.

“I can’t,” Harry eyed it hesitantly, afraid of its age and worth. “It must have cost a fortune.”

“Probably,” Draco shrugged. “Just take it.” He jammed it into Harry’s breast pocket and reseated the jar on its base.

“Thank you,” Harry didn’t know what else to say. He looked around uncomfortably and cleared his throat.

“So you can see my father isn’t well,” Draco addressed the elephant in the room. “He’s struggled ever since the Dark Lord was defeated.” He raised his chin and spoke with authority, “You will not be directly responsible for his care, so put that worry out of your mind. You are to serve me and only me, and you will answer no directives unless I am the one who issues them. Is that clear?”

“Yes,” Harry’s heart was pounding again.

“I’m saying it for the sake of the Blood Oath,” Draco clarified, his eyes cold and his tone impersional. “Since it seems to enforce obedience to my commands, I want my expectations to be clear.”

“Right,” Harry nodded.

“And I think you should call me sir,” Draco smirked. “That alone would make this all worthwhile.”

“Yessir,” Harry couldn’t stop himself from obeying. “Bollocks!” he glared at Draco and swallowed a nasty insult. “You’ve got to be kidding, sir.” He winced and cursed vehemently, “Bloody bollocks!”

“Brilliant!” Draco laughed raucously. “You can call me Master Draco, too. I wasn’t really looking forward to this summer, Potter, but you’re going to keep things entertaining.”

“Is that why I’m here?” Harry demanded. “To entertain you like a trained monkey so you don’t have to deal with your father’s madness?”

Draco stopped laughing and looked at Harry thoughtfully. “That sounds about right,” he said. He turned with a sharp click of his heels and beckoned for Harry to follow. “Let me show you to your quarters.”

They returned to the grand staircase to pick up Harry’s trunk, and then Draco led him through the corridors to a small, narrow stairwell at the back of the house. He explained that the staff were restricted to the service stairs and entrances unless a task required them to do otherwise. They passed other servants here and there, and each bowed and murmured a greeting. Draco called off blasé introductions as they breezed through the mansion, but Harry knew he would retain none of their names.

On the ground floor they walked through the extravagant kitchen, which was so large that it could have adequately produced a feast for the entire Hogwarts student body. A chef in a toque blanche and a pristine white double breasted jacket fussed over a series of copper pots set to varying levels of flame on the stove top. An assistant chopped produce at a tall granite counter, and a house elf scrubbed dishes in the cavernous sink.

“Are we expecting company?” Draco demanded as he noted the mounds of food in preparation.

“No sir, Master Draco,” the chef bowed formally. “Master Malfoy wishes us to provide service for full seating every night.”

“Bloody hell,” Draco muttered. “Come on, Potter,” he marched through the kitchen to the rear door. Harry’s trunk bumped and bobbled as it barely made the squeeze through the doorway.

They emerged into an open breezeway, which connected directly between the kitchen entrance and a small secondary building that was set apart from the main mansion. The sprawling gardens lay off to their right, where Harry spotted a pair of gardeners pruning the sculptured hedges that led down to a small fountain and what appeared to be an orchard beyond.

Draco strode angrily down the breezeway for several paces before whirling around and glaring daggers at Harry. “Hasn’t one person on this staff an ounce of sense?” he demanded. “Supper service for twenty four every single night? And don’t tell me they lost track of my father for two days, that was well more than two days of filth. Not one of those people has an ounce of fucking respect for the Malfoy name.”

“Master Draco,” Harry began, then startled at the sound of the unexpected honorary title. "Bollocks!" he cursed at himself. He tried again, “Sir--” He stomped his foot and bellowed, “Bloody buggery hell!” All of the frustration over his predicament poured out of him at once. He kicked one of the breezeway’s stone supports and yelped in pain. He hopped and clutched his foot, reeling off another long string of profanity. “Sodding bleeding flipping fucking Master Draco! Bloody bloody bastard!”

Draco stared at him, bug-eyed and stunned into silence. Suddenly he threw his head back and laughed, not a derisive mocking laugh, but a belly laugh of pure joy. He doubled over and clutched his stomach as he ran out of breath, then gasped and laughed some more. Harry groaned and thudded his head against the wall, wishing he could wake up from this nightmare.

“Potter, I swear,” Draco couldn’t form a coherent thought.

“Don’t say it, sir,” Harry winced again. “Bollocksing arse baskets!” he cursed, setting Draco off again.

“No!” Draco shrieked with laughter. “Don’t say anything else. Just stop!”

Harry slid to the floor and waited miserably for Draco to recover from his hysteria. Finally, after several renewed flurries of guffaws and much eye-wiping, the blond boy was able to mostly regain his composure and gesture for Harry to rise. They made their way down to the servant quarters and let themselves in.

The building was one corridor with single rooms along each side and a communal bathroom at the end. Draco didn’t seem concerned with privacy, he threw open each door until he found a room that appeared unoccupied. He directed Harry to stow his trunk inside. Harry looked around, unimpressed with the accommodations. The room was small, with a single-width bed in the corner, a desk and chair, and an empty bookcase. The small window was the best feature, offering a lovely view of the fruit trees that climbed the hills at the back of the property.

“Open the closet,” Draco instructed, leaning languidly in the doorway.

Harry obeyed and discovered a full rack of gray slacks and matching suit coats, white button-down shirts, and black cravats.

“You’ve signatured the wardrobe,” Draco explained. “You’ll always have a fresh supply of uniforms sized to fit you.”

“Uniform?” Harry couldn’t keep the dismay out of his voice.

“Of course,” Draco smirked. “You didn’t think you’d be allowed to amble about the mansion in your muggle t-shirts, did you?”

“It’s too much, Master Draco,” Harry smacked himself in the forehead as the formal name escaped his lips again. “Bollocks! You can’t honestly expect me to do this for three months.”

“That was the agreement,” Draco shrugged. “Next time don’t sign in blood.”

“Fine, what’s next?” Harry asked the wall.

“Nothing,” Draco replied. “It’s been a long day. Get settled in, unpack, freshen up, get changed. Supper service is at seven. You will be in attendance.”

“Fine,” Harry refused to look at him.

Draco left without another word.


	5. Chapter 5

It had been a long day filled with stress and anxiety, so as soon as Harry was alone he collapsed onto his new bed and buried his face in the pillow. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to pretend he was anywhere else, even the Dursleys' cupboard would have been preferable. At least there he had the illusion of free will.

He didn't realize how exhausted he was until the jingling of a persistent bell woke him up. He cracked one eye open and had no idea where he was. The bell continued to jingle, getting louder the longer he ignored it. He spotted the little handbell hovering in the upper corner of the room, flashing golden evening sunlight off of its curved walls as it shook vigorously. Harry whipped out his wand and blasted it with a curse, effectively silencing the annoying ring.

He rolled over and tried to sink back into sleep. A moment later the jingling started again. He lifted his head and spotted it near the closet. He blasted it again, smiling with satisfaction as it rained ash down onto the clean flagstone floor. But a moment later another bell appeared over the small desk at the foot of the bed. Another curse and it, too, was silenced.

He sat up and looked around, now remembering where he was. His stomach immediately tensed up and he thought he would be sick.

A rap at the door forced him out of bed. He opened it and looked down at the disgruntled looking house elf that waited impatiently on the other side. He was knobby and gaunt as most house elves were, with a scattering of long white hairs sprouting from his elongated ears. He peered over his gangly nose as though Harry were an object to steer clear of.

"Master Draco has asked that you stop destroying the summoning bell," the elf said in a flat, unenthusiastic voice.

"Summoning bell," Harry repeated stupidly.

"The masters use it whenever something is required of the staff," the elf explained. "Touch it with your hand to receive the request."

"I'm not doing that," Harry was relieved to discover that he could refuse the instructions of the elf without pain. He remembered Draco's order to obey only his commands.

"As you wish, sir," the elf turned to leave.

"What does he want?" Harry called after him.

"It is time for supper. You are to be in attendance," the elf replied flatly.

"Wait," Harry held out his hand to stop his retreat. "What's your name?"

"Sugar," the elf replied, then Disapparated from the corridor.

Harry returned to his room and closed the door. Another bell manifested in the air before him. He gritted his teeth and touched it resentfully. It disappeared and Draco's annoyed tone filled the inside of his head.

"If you destroy this bell again, Potter, I swear I will curse you and leave you for the hounds. Get your arse dressed and come up for supper."

Harry sighed and resigned himself to the order. He went down the hall to relieve himself and freshen up, then trudged back to his room to dress in the formal servant attire. The trousers and jacket were simple and wrinkle resistant. The button-down shirt was the purest white with no frills or accents. The cravat, now here was a challenge. Harry had only seen a cravat a handful of times, only in specialty shops that served the oldest and most conservative pureblood families. He gave it only a passing effort, then gave up and tied it in a drooping plain knot around his collar.

He checked his attire in the wardrobe mirror and felt as though he might cry. He looked like a butler, which was precisely the idea Draco was going for. He looked himself in the eye and silently ordered his reflection to keep a stiff upper lip. He would not let any of the Malfoys see how desperate he was. He would get through it. It was just clothing. It was just three months. When he felt as though he'd steeled his nerves as best he could, he departed for the main house.

The breezeway was charmed so that it maintained the same temperature and humidity as the house. He could see the wind picking up outside but felt only the mildest gust passing through the repeated open arches that supported the gabled roof. He entered the kitchen and was overwhelmed by the controlled chaos as the chef, his assistant, and the house elf plated courses in preparation for serving. The chef looked up as he entered and immediately barked orders.

"You! The soup has already gone out. As soon as the settings are clear, send out the lamb."

"Send out?" Harry was confused.

"Have you no formal dining training?" The man blustered. "Never mind, I'll do it." He whisked his wand from its concealment in his sleeve and cast a spell over the twenty four garnished plates of lamb and summer vegetables. The plates vanished from sight, presumably delivered straight to the diners.

"If you can be of no help in here, get in there and care for the Masters," the chef waved him away with an annoyed grunt.

Harry took a breath and exited the kitchen, pausing in the butler's pantry to compose his wits. He was famished and the food smelled incredible. He wondered when he would get to eat.

He squared his shoulders and entered the dining room. He paused mid-step as he took in the mostly vacant tableau. The chandeliers were lit, but glowed with no more merriment than when they were extinguished. The fireplace crackled savagely, casting flickering orange light across the cold, dark room. Lucius Malfoy sat hunched at the head of the table, his hair washed and trimmed and his fingernails looking significantly more human than before. He slowly carved his meat into small pieces but didn't appear to be eating any of them.

Draco sat to his left, his back to the fire and his face cast in shadow. His expression was miserable and he eyed his father's meticulous portioning with an irritable edge. The rest of the table was empty. The plates were served but remained untouched. Harry wondered at the tremendous waste of food. Draco was right to be cross with the staff.

"There you are, Potter," Draco looked up and made a physical effort to hide his bald-faced misery. "Presentable at last, I see."

"Yessir," Harry grimaced as he uttered the distasteful deference. "Bollocks," he muttered under his breath.

Draco's face lit up at Harry's curse. "That's the spirit. Fetch me more water, would you?" He held up a heavy footed stemmed glass and tapped his fork ringingly against the side.

Harry looked around the room and spotted a glass decanter of ice water on the sideboard. He snatched the glass out of Draco's hand, filled it, and set it down hard on the table before him. "Anything else?" He asked snidely.

"Have you eaten?" Draco glanced up over his shoulder.

"No, sir," Harry rolled his eyes and cursed under his breath again. "Bollocks."

"Sit, then," Draco pointed to the chair across from him, at his father's right elbow. "Eat some of this before it all goes to waste."

Harry sat gingerly in the indicated chair. He kept his head down and tried not to attract Lucius's attention. He was certain it would go poorly if Lucius had a sudden flash of recognition.

He tried the lamb and nearly groaned in appreciation. It was cooked to perfection and seasoned exactly as he liked it. He had to resist the urge not to gobble it up. The vegetables were similarly excellent, possibly the best serving of roasted vegetables he'd ever eaten. He'd grown up with Petunia Dursley's cooking, which rarely included vegetables, and on the rare occasion when they showed up they were usually overcooked to mush and drowning in gravy.

"There are more courses coming," Draco spoke up. "But you can help yourself to any of those other plates if you'd like."

"Thank you, sir," Harry spoke without thinking and uttered the hateful three-letter word again. "Balls," he cursed.

"Did you just say balls?" Draco's eyebrows shot up at the absurd expletive.

"I'm trying to introduce variety," Harry muttered.

Draco covered his mouth with his hand and tried to stifle a laugh. He snorted rudely before catching himself. Lucius looked up in surprise at the noise and blinked at his son and then Harry.

"You're not Narcissa," He said in a loud, clear voice.

"No, sir," Harry offered the title out of habitual respect for his elders, and out of fear.

"Who are you?" He asked, looking to Draco for an answer.

"Harry Potter, Father," Draco rolled his eyes dramatically. "Harry flipping Potter."

"Who?" Lucius looked back at Harry in confusion.

"Randolph," Harry tried. "Randolph Featherbottom."

"Ah Randolph," Lucius smiled with relief. "I believe I went to university with your father."

Draco buried his face in his hand and snorted again, his shoulders shaking with laughter. Harry was relieved. He was afraid Draco would think he was taking the piss out of the senior Malfoy. Lucius looked down at his plate and pushed the meat around. He studied it carefully as though looking for something.

"I can't divine anything from this," he complained.

"They're not tea leaves, father," Draco sighed. "Just eat your lamb so you can go back to your room."

"Where is Narcissa?" Lucius's voice rose querulously again. Harry thought it was a good question.

"St Mungos, Father, you know that," Draco sighed again. He turned in the direction of the kitchen and bellowed. "I think we're done here!"

The plates evaporated and a moment later were replaced with a green salad. Down the table all two dozen place settings were served to the depressingly empty room. Draco shook his head in disgust.

"Skip to the pudding," he shouted. The salad plates abruptly disappeared and several moments later were replaced by large goblets of ice cream covered in toffee and chocolate syrup. Lucius took up his spoon and started picking out the toffee pieces and depositing them onto his saucer.

"Come on, Potter," Draco swept up his goblet in his hand and stalked out of the dining room. Harry grabbed his goblet and followed quickly. They exited the house and made their way to a stone patio that was surrounded by neatly squared hedges. Draco flopped down unceremoniously at one of the tiled tables and started angrily devouring his ice cream.

"It's a madhouse," he said between bites. "That bloody old fool."

"All because of Voldemort?" Harry asked. The ice cream was exquisite and he hoped Draco would stay settled long enough for him to finish.

"When he left all of his followers went mad," he said. "The true believers, anyway."

"You seem relatively sane," Harry pointed out. "Well, as sane as you've ever been."

Draco was quiet for a moment. "I was never a true believer," he said softly.

Harry looked up and met his eyes. He saw sincerity there, something that he'd never seen in him before. It was an odd dissonance that his rational mind wanted to reject as a trick of the light. He looked away quickly.

"And your mother?" Harry asked as he returned to his ice cream.

"Also mad," Draco's voice was flat. "Differently, though. She's not mad enough to be committed, but she's definitely mad. She stays at St Mungo's under the delusion that she's a volunteer in the children's ward. They keep her when she wants to stay, and they let her go when she wants to come home. She always returns, though. This place makes her worse. Not that I blame her. The staff is incompetent and they don't mind either of my parents properly."

"Sounds tough," Harry admitted. He wouldn't wish this situation on his worst enemy. Who just happened to be Draco Malfoy. A thought occurred to him and he opened his mouth before he thought better of it. Draco spotted his hesitation and smirked tolerantly.

"Out with it, Potter," he took an oversized bite of his ice cream.

"It's just," Harry chose his words carefully. "I read in the Daily Prophet that your father transferred all of his assets to your name during the war so the Ministry couldn't seize them."

"That's true," Draco nodded.

"So this is all yours," Harry pointed with his long, slender dessert spoon at the house and surrounding property.

"Correct," Draco looked around appraisingly.

"So they all work for you," Harry said emphatically.

Draco fixed his appraising gaze on Harry. "Correct."

"Your house, your rules," Harry added. "Why are they still taking orders from your father when he's too mad to even bathe himself?"

"Excellent point, Potter," Draco looked down at his ice cream. "You know, I don't even like toffee. First rule, no more sodding toffee!"

"I like toffee," Harry curled his arm around his goblet protectively.

"Fine, you can have toffee," Draco rolled his eyes tolerantly. "But no more for anyone else."

"That's awfully tolerant of you, Master Draco," he winced as the obligatory title took the edge off of the snide jab. "Shite."

Draco laughed and shook his head, "That doesn't get old, does it?"

Harry grimaced and set his spoon down, his appetite gone. He'd almost forgotten for a moment that he wasn't here as a mate, or as a guest. He was here as a plaything for Draco's amusement.

"Oh don't be cross," Draco stood and nudged Harry's shoulder. "Go relax. Tomorrow is another day." Then he drifted gracefully back to the house and disappeared inside.


	6. Chapter 6

A persistent knock at the door roused Harry the next morning. He fell halfway out of bed before realizing he wasn't at Hogwarts and the door was entirely the wrong direction. Without considering who might be on the other side, he yanked the door open in nothing but his t-shirt, underpants, and socks. The house elf named Sugar peered up warily at him.

"What time is it?" Harry blurted, looking around for his glasses.

"Seven o'clock," Sugar creaked. "Master Malfoy expects his breakfast at seven thirty sharp."

"He wants me to make him breakfast?" Harry asked in dismay.

"No, he wants you to bring it to him," Sugar said as though it should be obvious.

"Oh," Harry nodded. "Fine. Then I have time for a shower."

"You should not be tardy," Sugar said warningly.

"Don't worry about me," Harry stalked down the corridor to the communal bathroom. He found a linen closet filled with towels and a full complement of hygiene products. He showered luxuriously and brushed his teeth, then took extra care when shaving his face. Feeling a bit more human he returned to his room and dressed in the silly butler uniform, with a careless overhand knot in the cravat.

He arrived at the kitchen two minutes past seven thirty. Sugar was waiting grumpily for his arrival with a pair of heavily laden trays on a wheeled butler cart. Harry cast a levitation spell on it and towed it up the servant stairs to the second floor. He took a moment to reorient himself and made his way to Draco's suite. He knocked with a rude thump of his fist.

"Knock knock, open up," he cut himself off before he could utter a name that would turn into a title of respect.

"Come in," Draco called.

Harry slid the doors open and pushed the cart through. He ended the levitation spell and steadied the trays as they landed with a wobble.

"You're late," Draco was sitting up in bed, clothed in navy blue silken pyjamas. His hair was rumpled and his face was creased from his pillow.

"Where do you want it?" Harry ignored his rebuke.

Draco waved his hand negligently at a round table near the window with four chairs placed evenly around it. Harry deposited the trays onto the table and turned to leave.

"I haven't dismissed you yet," Draco called.

Harry tried to leave anyway but a shot of pain lanced up his left leg. His knee buckled and he dropped to the floor with a hiss.

"For Merlin's sake," Draco slid out of the bed and padded across the room in his bare feet. He braced Harry's arm and helped him stand. "Come sit for a minute."

Harry allowed himself to be led by his arm to the table. Draco's hand was warm and he grasped Harry's arm lightly. It wasn't the cold, cruel grip he would have expected. He sat down opposite from Harry and lifted the various silver domed lids to see what had been served. Under one lid was a stack of plates and an assortment of cutlery.

"Have you eaten?" He asked.

"No," Harry said, eyeing the platter of fried eggs.

"Serve me first, then you," Draco handed over two plates.

"What do you want?" Harry didn't even mind the command, he was so hungry.

"Some of everything, except the kippers,," Draco leaned back luxuriously in his chair. "Did you sleep well?"

"What do you care?" Harry said rudely out of habit. He looked up and met Draco's gaze. "I slept fine."

"I slept terribly," Draco accepted his plate and dug in.

"Guilty conscience," Harry said, pointing his fork.

"Don't flatter yourself," Draco scoffed. "I never sleep well here. Always slept better at school."

"That's saying a lot," Harry frowned. "Unless none of your housemates snored like mine did."

"This house has seen to too much darkness," Draco held out his cup and waited expectantly for Harry to pour the tea. "Sometimes it feels haunted."

"So you're too scared to sleep?" Harry splashed tea into his cup and then served himself.

"Two sugars," Draco waited expectantly. Harry tossed in two lumps and gave it a perfunctory stir. He tossed the spoon down and waved his hand with a mock flourish over the cup. Draco tried to hide a smile behind his hand.

"I wouldn't say scared," he continued. "Uneasy."

"You could order me to check under your bed for monsters every night," Harry went back to eating.

"Very funny," Draco muttered.

They ate their breakfast silently. When they were finished Draco instructed Harry to tidy up and headed into the bathroom for a shower. Harry loaded up the trays and moved them back to the butler cart, then did a half-hearted job of picking up, tossing yesterday’s clothes into a hamper on the inside of the closet door, and tossing the duvet over the unmade sheets on the bed. He tamped down the lumps in the bedding with his hand and placed the myriad of throw pillows strategically to hide as many of the wrinkles as possible. When he was done he tried to depart and felt a shock of pain through his arm as he reached for the door. Right, Draco had reserved the right to dismiss him. He leaned resolutely against the wall with his arms crossed and waited.

A few minutes later the shower taps cut off and Draco emerged from the bathroom in a plume of steam with a towel around his waist. His hair was tousled and dripping and water droplets clung to his pale skin. His lithe physique was toned and supple, his skin was perfectly blemish free. Harry averted his eyes and stared into the flickering fireplace as Draco moved about the room, inspecting his work.

“The bed looks terrible,” Draco announced.

“I know,” Harry retorted, not looking up.

“What else shall I have you do today?” Draco asked as he raised a hand towel and scrubbed his hair dry.

“I don’t know,” Harry wished he could leave. His chest felt tight and he felt like he might prefer the pain of escaping. Why didn’t he just get dressed already?

As if he could hear Harry’s thoughts, Draco crossed to the closet and dressed quickly in a fitted lightweight button-down shirt and thin, summery, linen trousers that hung just so from his hips.. Harry shifted uncomfortably and waited by the door.

“Come on, I’ll show you the grounds,” Draco breezed past Harry and led the way down the hall. Harry dragged the butler cart behind him and deposited it in the kitchen as they passed through. Draco didn’t check to see if Harry was following, he simply strode out onto the lawn towards the sculptured hedges and the fountain beyond.

“This property has been in my family for generations,” he called over his shoulder. The day was pleasantly warm and sunny, and the gentle breeze ruffled through their hair as they walked. “The gardens have changed around a bit, depending on what’s fashionable amongst people who care about that sort of thing. The fountain is fairly new, maybe three years old.”

Harry didn’t care about any of that. His jacket was lightweight but just a little too warm for the summer sun. He suspected he would have sweat rings under his arm before they were through. They passed by the fountain and beneath a trellis that was engulfed in grapevines. Draco led the way up a neatly maintained path between rows of unusual cultivated trees. Harry felt the first sweat start to trickle down his neck. They crested the hill and paused as Draco decided where to go next.

“Are you sweating?” he asked incredulously. “Take off that ridiculous jacket, Potter.”

“Yessir. Fuck,” Harry peeled the jacket off and tossed it carelessly over a tree branch.

“You’re going to develop a nervous tic,” Draco grinned at his profane outburst. “Cursing every time you say sir, that will go over well at the academy.”

“I wish you didn’t enjoy it so much,” Harry said miserably.

“This orchard is mostly for show,” Draco turned and swept his arm across the horizon. “They grow fruit, of course, but we don’t do much with it. I used to come out here a lot to hide when I was a kid. Of course the house elves could always find me. Can’t ever really escape, you know,” his voice sounded distant and introspective.

“What were you hiding from?” Harry asked, in spite of the fact that he didn’t want to care.

“You’ve met my family,” Draco said. “They’re bloody terrifying.”

“I assumed you liked them,” Harry tugged as his cravat.

“That’s just because most people like their families,” Draco nodded. “Take that stupid thing off,” he sounded annoyed. “It’s tied all wrong anyway.”

“I don’t know how to tie a cravat,” Harry yanked it off and slung it over his shoulder.

“Well you’ve got time to figure it out,” Draco shrugged. He gazed thoughtfully across the orchard and laughed to himself. “For my twelfth birthday I told my father I wanted him to plow down the fruit trees and install a quidditch pitch, just for me. I told him I had to practice and make the Slytherin team the next year.” He looked down at his hands and smiled ruefully. “Instead he bought the whole team new broomsticks and they appointed me as Seeker without a tryout.”

“I remember that,” Harry unbuttoned the top two buttons on his shirt and then rolled up his sleeves. Draco looked up and his eyes lingered on the exposed vee of skin as a drop of sweat traced its way down his sternum.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Draco said, looking away. “Poor little rich boy, right?”

“Yes,” Harry said honestly.

Draco nodded as though Harry had confirmed his suspicions. He gestured for Harry to follow him down the hill into the trees. As they walked further into the property the landscape grew more natural, with rocky ledges and a small streamlet winding its way through the terrain here and there. The air was cooler beneath the trees, and the sun dappled between the branches, marking them in shifting brilliant splotches of golden light. They came upon a cleared section of land with a large stone outcropping and a fire pit circled in weathered bricks.

“This was where I made camp whenever I ran away.” Draco sat on a flat stone ledge and gazed at the blackened ash in the center of the brick ring. “It took years for me to figure out that you can’t keep running away to the same place and expect no one will find you.”

Harry sat on the edge of the rock and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. he scooped up a handful of pebbles and chucked them one by one at the ash pit. They were quiet, both thinking their own thoughts.

“Why are you doing this?” Harry finally asked.

“Doing what?”

“Telling me all of this. Talking to me like I’m a friend,” Harry looked up wearily. “You’ve never liked me. We’ve never been friends. I’m here against my will. What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know,” Draco shook his head. ‘I just felt like talking.”

“Master Draco,” Harry gritted his teeth and hurled the handful of pebbles as hard as he could into the trees. “Fuck!” he buried his face in his hands and seethed. “Fuck."

This time Draco didn’t laugh.


	7. Chapter 7

The wind picked up in the afternoon and clouds scuttled across the sky in the telltale sign that a storm was approaching. Draco sent Harry back to his room to change into a clean uniform and told him to be in the dining room at seven for supper.

“No more bells,” Harry said firmly.

“No more bells what?” Draco asked, his eyes cold. He had been reserved and distant since their walk in the orchard, more like the Draco Harry knew from school.

“No more bells please, sir,” Harry gritted his teeth, balling his fists and wishing he could lash out.

“Fine, I’ll send Sugar the next time I need you,” Draco paused, “I mean the next time I require your services.”

“Thank you,” Harry turned sharply on his heel and marched down to the servant quarters. He laid in his bed for a while and listened to the rising wind outside. He could feel the rain coming, smell it on the air. He could hear other servants moving around in their own rooms, occasionally coming and going but not speaking much. There was Iris, the head housekeeper, two maids whose names he couldn’t recall, the chef who seemed to only be known as Chef, his assistant Pater, and two gardeners he hadn’t been introduced to yet. He wasn’t sure how many house elves there were or where they slept.

He decided to take a shower and slipped down the hall without having to speak to any of his new coworkers. The communal bathroom had three private shower stalls along the far end, and he quickly undressed and ducked behind the curtain of the furthest one. He stood beneath the hot spray, grateful for the moment of relaxation as the day’s sweat washed down his body. He squeezed out some liquid soap lathered it slowly between his palms. He closed his eyes and slid his hands across his arms and chest while taking deep, calming breaths. He ran his hands down his smooth abdomen and let the suds tickle across his groin.

The bathroom was deserted and there was no sound of anyone approaching. Thinking there would be no better time, he grasped his knob and stroked gently. He played his fingers up and down the length of it as it perked up and stiffened. He leaned against the clean white tile and pulled slowly, flipping through various interesting images in his mind like the channels on a muggle telly. He thought about some of his schoolmates, Dean Thomas, Oliver Wood, boys he would never breathe a word to about his attraction to them. He pictured Draco Malfoy stretched luxuriously in the back of his limo, then shook the image from his head. He thought about a rather handsome man he’d spotted across the platform as they had exited King’s Cross Station. He thought about Draco exiting the shower with just a towel around his waist. Harry frowned again. He put the image of Oliver back into his mind’s eye and imagined running into him on the streets of Hogsmeade, exchanging a glance, and finding a private room together. He thought about wind ruffling through white blond hair and golden sunlight dappling strong, pale shoulders.

He came suddenly, and had to hold onto the ceramic soap ledge for balance as the intensity overwhelmed him. He opened his eyes and looked down at the soapy water that encircled his feet on the way to the drain. It was okay, he told himself. It was just images. He hadn’t imagined doing anything he would regret.

He let the hot water drizzle over him for a while longer before finally deciding it was time to get out. He shut off the taps and secured his towel by feel, then wrapped it around his waist. He stepped out and immediately jumped back in behind the curtain.

“Iris!” he blurted out. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

The lanky middle aged woman eyed him through the reflection of the mirror. “You can come out,” she said in a chiding tone. “I’m not interested in children.”

“I’m not a child,” Harry stepped out again, this time more careful to hold his towel firmly in place.

“You are to me,” she leaned forward and lightly teased the gray curls that bobbed around her head. “Besides,” she added. “You’re one of them.”

“One of who?”

“Like the young master,” Iris said vaguely. “Two of a kind.”

“I’m not like him,” Harry assured her. “I’m not wealthy. We weren’t even friends at school.”

She set her brush down and frowned pityingly at him, then went back to styling her hair.

Harry was distinctly uncomfortable. He excused himself and made haste back to his room. He dressed quickly in a clean uniform and made a passing effort to knot the cravat correctly. After three unsuccessful attempts he settled for another sloppy overhand knot. Supper wasn’t for another hour and a half so he decided to sit at his barren desk and write a letter to Ron and Hermione. He wondered if he would be able to convince Draco to let him have access to an owl.

He opened the top drawer and found it stocked with paper and quills. He first wrote to Hermione, and tried his best to explain what his first two days had been like so far. As he reached the bottom of the first page he decided he was complaining too much and scrunched it up. Starting again, he tried to be more optimistic and just focus on the parts that were okay. But he ran out of things to say after two paragraphs. He scrunched it up again. By the time Sugar rapped on his door to call him to supper he had a pile of parchment on the floor and nothing worth sending to either friend. He tossed the quill back into the drawer and told himself that two days was too soon to write anyway.

He had been so absorbed in his writing that he hadn’t noticed the onset of rain. He was thankful for the magic that prevented the wind from lashing him as he passed through to the main house. It was pouring buckets outside, and the distant roll of thunder told him more was on the way.

Chef wanted nothing to do with him and waved him through. He stopped once again in the butler pantry to steel his nerve before entering the dining room. Three steps in he halted in his tracks.

Lucius sat at the head of the table as he had the night before. Draco sat to his left with his back to the fireplace, but tonight the seat to his right was filled. Narcissa Malfoy was in attendance. Harry’s stomach quaked as he faced the three blond purebloods. Draco looked up at his entrance and waved him over.

“Have a seat, Potter,” he gestured to the seat to his left. He would be directly in Narcissa and Lucius’ line of sight.

As before, all twenty four place settings were served. Harry had entered during the appetizer course and had just a brief moment to warily eyeball his serving of oysters on the half shell before they were whisked away. The soup arrived next, and the four of them lifted their spoons at the same time.

“Who is your friend, dear?” Narcissa smiled at Harry, and he noticed that she seemed unfocused, almost walleyed.

“This is Randolph Featherbottom,” Lucius looked up from his soup and regarded her with some annoyance. “Surely you remember his father.”

“Oh yes,” Narcissa’s smile faltered as she clearly was unable to recollect the name.

Lucius was more lucid than the previous night. He actually managed to eat and tracked the conversation around him. Narcissa was bright and chipper and spoke glowingly of her experiences volunteering in the children’s ward at St Mungo’s Hospital. She said she had only returned for the night and would be heading back to the hospital in the morning.

“They do need me, dear,” she said seriously to Draco.

“It sounds like it,” Draco’s face was drawn. His mother’s madness weighed on him in a way that his father’s didn’t.

Harry kept his mouth closed and contributed as little to the conversation as possible. It was surreal, sitting with Lucius and Narcissa and Draco bloody Malfoy, enjoying supper while the two elder diners prattled on delusionally. Harry felt out of sorts, looking at their faces and thinking about the all-too-recent war.

He hated the Malfoys, he reminded himself. They deserved to suffer. Then again, these weren’t really the Malfoys anymore. They were hollow shells of their former selves, twisted and fallen from grace. Narcissa’s false happiness couldn’t hide that.

At the end of the meal Lucius stood without acknowledging anyone in the room and retreated to his quarters. Narcissa followed him hesitantly, the first sign of any emotion other than elation shadowing her face. Draco sat back in his chair and sighed miserably. Harry stared at his plate and had no idea what to say.

“Would you like me to refill your water?” he asked hesitantly. “Sir?”

“No,” Draco looked up, his gray eyes searching Harry’s for something. “You can go back to your room if you want.” He stood and departed without another word.

Harry did as he was told, although it wasn’t actually an order. He just didn’t know what else to do with himself. He changed into flannel trousers and a t-shirt and sat at his desk, quill set to parchment and totally unable to express himself. He finally gave up, extinguished the light, and sat on his bed so he could watch the storm through his window as it rolled across the orchard.

He wasn’t sure when he fell asleep but a rapid tapping at his door woke him up. He opened his eyes in confusion as a flash of lightning lit up the entire room. A clamorous blast of thunder immediately followed, and he wondered that he had slept through such an intense storm but had awoken to the sound of knocking. He fumbled his glasses onto his face and lurched for the doorknob.

Sugar was waiting on the other side, his expression grim and his voice barely audible above the lashing of the rain across the roof. “Master Draco would like to see you in his quarters,” he said bluntly. Then, message delivered, Disapparated immediately.

Harry didn’t bother changing into his uniform. A quick check of the clock told him it was two thirty in the morning. He slipped his trainers on and stumbled sleepily down the corridor, then dashed to the kitchen entrance. The storm couldn’t reach through the protective shielding around the passageway, but the ferocity of the lightning drove him forward with haste. The kitchen was dark, as was the servant stairwell. Harry moved by feel and caught glimpses of his footing during the frequent flashes of lightning. He crept down the second floor hallway and made his way to Draco’s suite.

“Open up, Master Draco,” he smacked himself in the forehead. “Shite.”

“Come in,” Draco called.

Harry slid the doors open, stepped inside, and slid them shut behind him. The drapes were drawn and the candelabras were all lit, and every lamp was illuminated. The rain pounded against the glass and resonated through the room. Draco sat in the middle of his bed, his covers mounded around him, looking very young and very frightened.

“Did I wake you?” he asked bravely, putting on a transparently casual air.

“Of course you did,” Harry pushed his glasses up and rubbed his eye with the heel of his hand.

“Sorry,” Draco flinched as another clash of thunder pealed through the room.

“Are you scared of the storm?” Harry laughed in disbelief. “The patron saint of Slytherin house, afraid of a little thunder.”

“Piss off if you can’t be helpful,” Draco scowled. “No wait!” he called as Harry turned to leave. “Just come sit for a minute.”

Harry crossed the room and flopped down across the foot of the bed. He rolled onto his side and tucked his knees up. “Can I just sleep right here? Is that good enough or do I need to talk?”

Another clap of thunder made Draco flinch. “Storms don’t usually bother me,” he clarified. “They never bothered me at school. It’s this house, this haunted bloody house” he said miserably.

“It probably doesn’t help knowing both of your parents are here,” Harry added with a yawn.

“No, it doesn’t,” Draco nodded.

Harry cracked an eye open and saw Draco’s hands were trembling. He reached out and lazily swatted at his fingers. “Master Draco fucking Malfoy doesn’t tremble,” he said sleepily. ‘Bollocks,” he added belatedly.

Draco laughed in spite of himself. He pushed one unsteady hand through his hair and took a deep breath.

“If you’ll let me sleep I’ll stay here tonight,” Harry said, pushing himself up to a seated position.

“Okay,” Draco looked embarrassed. “Look, Potter, I’m not a coward. You know that.”

“I know that,” Harry crawled up the length of the oversized bed and punched a pillow into submission. He flopped down and dug his legs under the covers.

Draco extinguished the nearest lamp and laid down next to Harry, his hands folded rigidly on top of the quilt. A very close lightning strike made the candles flicker and the room shake. Draco yelped and clapped his hands over his ears. Harry rolled over and tossed an arm over the top of him.

“Roll over,” he said, nudging Draco to face away, so that his back nestled into Harry’s abdomen. He fell asleep spooning his mortal enemy, but he was too tired to care either way.


	8. Chapter 8

By daybreak the storm had cleared and Draco and Harry slept well into the late morning. Draco stirred first, yawning and and bumping Harry’s legs with his. Harry blinked and opened his eyes to the sight of a head of short blond hair lying on the pillow next to him. His arm was still curled around Draco’s side, and he could feel the soft rise and fall of the other boy’s ribs. He quickly rolled away, face flushing with humiliation. His glasses were still on his face and he searched vainly for a clock.

“What time is it?” he croaked as Draco rolled onto his back and rubbed his eyes.

Draco reached for his clock on the side table and squinted at it. "Almost ten thirty."

"Merlin," Harry sat up on the edge of the bed. "I can't remember the last time I slept this late."

"It's a comfortable bed, isn't it?" Draco yawned and stretched luxuriously.

"It is. I think your first order of business should be to tell me to switch with you. I'll take this bed and you can take mine," Harry slouched to the loo for a slash

"Is it that bad?" Draco called.

Harry returned and saw what he knew couldn't be a look of concern on his face. "It's not that bad," he said.

"You're welcome to use my shower," Draco said with a gruff edge to his voice, as though he didn't want to seem too considerate.

"I don't have anything to change into," Harry looked down at his t-shirt and flannels.

"Right," Draco nodded. "Hungry?"

"Yes," Harry's stomach growled on cue.

"Come on, there will be something on the stove in the kitchen," Draco padded to the door in his bare feet, not even a robe over his silken pyjamas. Harry scooped up his trainers and carried them in his hand.

As they turned the corner at the corridor that led to the service stairs, they heard an unearthly yowl up on the third floor. Draco turned and stared at Harry with wide eyes.

"What was that?" he hissed.

"I don't know," Harry jumped as another howl rose to a piercing screech. Acting without thought, he turned and ran for the stairs to the third floor, Draco at his heels. They bounded two at a time to the top landing and screeched to a halt at the sight that lay before them.

Narcissa was standing at the bottom of the spiral steps to the western tower. She held herself tall, her posture regal and commanding. Lucius lay on the ground before her, mewling and whimpering as though struck down. Narcissa's hand was thrust forward as though casting a spell, but there was no wand in her hand. Lucius' hands covered his face as though protecting it from harm.

"Please, Cissy," he moaned. "I need my papers."

"What is going on here?" Draco shouted. "Mother!"

"The Dark Lord!" Narcissa pointed at Lucius's prone figure.

"No, Mother, that's Father," Draco seized her arm and pulled her out of her attack stance.

"The Dark Lord lives in him. He is resurrected!" She pointed emphatically at the tower stairs.

"You're mad. You're both mad," Draco said angrily. "I can't have you both here, you make each other worse. Iris!" He shouted. "Get your arse up here.

"The Dark Lord lives in him!" Narcissa shrieked again. Lucius sat up and thrust his hand out at her as though trying to throw a curse. Harry recalled that convicted Death Eaters were forbidden to have wands.

Thinking quickly, Harry crouched next to Lucius and grasped his shoulder to get his attention. "Listen to me closely, Lucius," he said firmly. He then spoke to the wild-eyed man in Parseltongue.

Narcissa and Lucius both went silent. They stared at him in mutual terror but did not respond. Narcissa shook free from Draco's grasp and ran down the stairs.

"I must return to St Mungo's!" she shouted. "The children need me!"

Iris passed her on the stairs and called after her, "Mind the Floo, Madam Malfoy!"

"Voldemort isn't in him," Harry released Lucius and straightened up. "He's as dead as he ever was."

"Iris, get him back to his room and call the Healer," Draco commanded. "They’ll make sure there's no dark magic attached to him. And then clean up the western tower and bring his parchments to my room."

"Yessir," Iris braced Lucius’ arm and helped him to his feet. She eyed Draco's and Harry's state of dress and quirked her eyebrow mysteriously. Then she led Lucius down the stairs to the master suite.

"Why isn't he at St Mungo's?" Harry asked as they watched the senior Malfoy's blond head disappear around the second floor landing. He was a little unsettled by Iris's knowing glance. He knew what it looked like, both of them in their pyjamas.

"House arrest," Draco said flatly. "He should be committed but the Ministry won't budge." He narrowed his eyes and looked curiously at Harry. "What did you say to him?"

"I said the Dark Lord is a powerless mudblood who was defeated by a child," Harry adjusted his glasses self-consciously. "Voldemort would have never been able to resist an insult like that."

Draco nodded approvingly. "Smart," he said. Then he cleared his throat and corrected himself, "For a Gryffindor, that is."

"Right," Harry smirked back.

Draco led the way to the service stairs and descended to the kitchen. They found a full spread on the long granite prep counter and piled their plates eagerly. Harry started to head into the dining room but Draco stopped him and sank into a chair at the dinette set near the door.

"This is where the staff usually eats," he said as he stabbed a sausage link with his fork. "But I used to take my breakfast in here on weekends when I was a kid."

"I think I prefer it to the dining room," Harry looked around thoughtfully.

"Can you teach me Parseltongue?" Draco asked suddenly.

"I don't think it can be learned," Harry frowned. "I never learned, I've always been able to do it."

"So do it," Draco ordered.

Harry considered for a moment, then uttered a complicated series of hisses and sibilant sounds. Draco’s eyes widened and he sat back in his chair. Harry shrugged and went back to eating.

“Are you going to tell me what you said?”

“I said you’re an inbred wanker who couldn’t tell his arse from a hole in the ground,” Harry said around a mouthful of potatoes.

Draco went back to his meal and chewed thoughtfully. Finally he raised his fork as though something occurred to him. “So you’re telling me that snakes have a word for wanking?”

“Well no,” Harry admitted. “I had to say one who pleasures himself with his own tail.”

“You’re talking bollocks,” Draco shook his head.

Harry looked up as one of the gardeners passed through and filled his coffee cup. Thinking coffee would hit the spot he got up and poured himself a cup from the silver service.

"Would you pour me a cup?" Draco asked, then scowled and said, "I mean pour me a cup, Potter."

"Yessir," Harry grinned and didn't even curse his response.

"I keep forgetting that you're here to serve me. One shouldn’t be too familiar with the help." Draco accepted the cup and took a sip. He grimaced, “Needs sugar."

"Ask me nicely," Harry folded his arms across his chest.

"I could just order you to get the sugar," Draco looked up warningly.

"You could also ask me nicely," Harry retorted.

Draco pressed his lips together and heaved an exaggerated, world-weary sigh. He set his fork down and asked in an aggrieved tone, "Would you please fetch the me sugar?"

"No. Get it yourself," Harry grinned triumphantly and sat down.

Draco was outraged. "I asked you nicely!"

"Right, and sometimes you don't get what you want," Harry took a bite of toast. "That's life. But it doesn't mean you get to order people around and cheat with Blood Oaths and your father's money to get your way."

Draco stared morosely at Harry, then over at the sugar, then at Harry again.

"Oh all right," Harry stood and reached across the counter for the sugar bowl. He smacked it down onto the table in front of his schoolmate and sat back down. "But you can add your own lumps."

Draco's expression melted into a sneaky smile. "Got you," he sneered. "You still did what I said."

"I know," Harry nodded. "But we were both willing. And we can have a pleasant meal because I'm not cursing at you and wishing you'd Disapparate to the Marianas Trench." He pointed with his fork. "That's not being manipulative, that's being a mate."

"I don't need you to be my mate," Draco said sharply.

"Maybe not," Harry conceded. "But you sort of want to."

"No I don't," Draco said flatly.

"Okay fine," Harry gulped his coffee down. "I'm going to go shower. Let me know whenever you decide you need something." He left Draco and headed back to his room.


	9. Chapter 9

Draco didn't summon Harry all day. So he wandered around the grounds to pass the time, sweating stains into his uniform before he remembered to take off the jacket and cravat. At the western edge of the property he found a large shed with vaulted double doors that housed several expensive cars in various states of disuse.

The doors were ajar so he let himself inside, relieved to be free of the summer sun. The limousine was parked closest to the door and was shined and ready to go. Beyond it was a pair of two-seat convertible sports cars that were caked in dust. There was a heavy sport utility vehicle with four flat tyres, a classic luxury sedan with rotund curves and a trophy-sized hood ornament. Near the back there was a tough-looking motorcycle with a metal studded black leather seat and high arching handlebars.

He suddenly wondered how often the Malfoys left the property. Lucius was on house arrest, Narcissa used the Floo network between the mansion and the hospital. And Draco hadn’t mentioned leaving since they arrived. Harry eyed the motorcycle enviously, wishing he knew the first thing about driving one.

Around midday he found his way to the kitchen and ate a quick lunch at the staff table. One of the maids whose name he couldn't recall joined him. She flirted openly until Iris passed through and rebuked her sharply. Harry noticed that Iris did not treat him like the other staff. She called him sir and kept her responses short and neutral in tone.

After lunch he wandered back to his room and tried to write another letter to Hermione and Ron. He gave up and punted a wadded up parchment like a football around the room until a poorly placed kick sent it under the bookcase. He looked at the only item he had placed out on display, the antique Golden Snitch that Draco had crammed into his pocket on his first day. It seemed dormant and wouldn't unfurl it's wings even when Harry tried to prise them apart with his fingers.

He wondered at the strangely precious gift. Even if Draco didn't want his collection of Snitches, he should have certainly prized them for the mere fact that they were coveted by others. Draco Malfoy valued envy and power more than he valued sentimentality. The status of his collection should have made this old specimen his favorite. So why had he given it to Harry?

He was bored and he figured he might as well find out. He changed into a fresh uniform and tied the cravat with an absurd side-knot so the silken material bunched beneath his left ear. He felt a spring in his step as he walked to the house and mounted the stairs to the second floor. He rapped on the Slytherin's door in a rhythmic pattern.

"Come in," Draco called. Harry slipped through the doors and closed them behind him.

Draco was sitting on the floor, surrounded by parchments. Some were covered across every square inch with scribbles. Others were stained with ink spills. Still others contained drawings, or doodles that aspired to be drawings.

"These were all found in the western tower." He looked up as Harry entered. He didn't ask why Harry was there.

"Have you made any sense of it?" Harry made his way casually to the collection of Snitches by the closet door.

"I have been able to determine one thing," Draco held up one of the sheets that was crowded with messy script. "My father is as mad as a hatter."

"You already knew that," Harry pointed out.

"Yes but now I have documentation," Draco shook his head as he tried to parse the writing. "It's not even coherent enough to be mistaken for prophecy." He looked up again, "It might be enough to petition the Ministry to release him from house arrest so I can put him in hospital."

"You're awfully calm about that prospect," Harry lifted one of the bell jars and touched a Snitch that was signed by a champion Seeker.

"It's been more than a year since he lost his marbles, Potter," Draco shuffled the papers into a pile. "It's exhausting and I just want it to end."

"You wouldn't feel guilty at all about sending him away?"

"No," Draco said firmly. "Lucius Malfoy is gone. He gave himself to the Dark Lord and that daft old fool is all the Dark Lord left behind." He shrugged, "The way I see it, my father is dead."

"You don't seem terrible broken up over that, either," Harry fondled another Snitch.

"I started grieving years ago. By the time he was lost I'd already said goodbye," Draco said softly. Harry looked up in surprise. The blond boy was gazing pensively out of the window, his eyes reflecting the afternoon sun.

"Can I have this?" Harry asked, simply to distract Draco from his moody introspection. He held up the signed Snitch and smiled.

"Do you know who signed that?" Draco stood and walked over to the collection table.

"Yes," Harry looked down at the plaque and read the name. "Stanislaw, I can't pronounce the last name."

"You don't even know who that is," Draco took it from his hand and placed it back on the stand. "You can't have any of the signed ones." He lifted another glass done and handed him a miniature Snitch. "You can have this one. They used to make child-sized Snitches until they figured out that children shouldn't be speeding around on brooms until they're big enough to take a hard landing."

"Why are you giving me your collection?" Harry asked, but jammed the mini-Snitch in his pocket anyway.

"I don't know," Draco looked annoyed. "You obviously like them. And you're a top-notch player so you should have a collection of your own."

"Ha!" Harry pointed triumphantly. "You think I'm a good Quidditch player! I knew it!"

"Top-notch for a Gryffindor," Draco corrected himself.

Harry grinned gloatingly. He looked down at the remaining collection, wondering how much it was worth. "Master Draco," he smacked himself in the forehead. "Buggery bollocks!"

Draco smiled, his gray eyes glittering. "If you would stop fighting it I might take back the order."

"I'm not going to stop fighting it," Harry said sharply.

Draco's smile softened. "I know."

Harry couldn't look him in the eye. Not when he was being sincere and almost normal and not at all Malfoy-ish. He flushed and turned his head so he wouldn't have to respond.

"What is going on with your cravat?" Malfoy suddenly asked.

"Still don't know how to tie it," Harry kept his eyes fixed resolutely on the duvet.

"Here, let me show you," Draco reached out and unknotted it, then slipped it from around Harry's neck and smoothed out the silken material. He reseated Harry's collar so it stood up, both hands busy just beneath his chin. Harry tried to think of something else.

"It goes like this," Draco muttered as he slipped the cravat back into place.

Harry didn't know where to look. Draco had an inch of height on him, which meant he had to look up slightly to look him in the eye at this distance. Not wanting to do that, he glanced down and looked at his mouth. He was chewing his lip in concentration as he tried to knot the fabric properly. Harry didn't know where to put his hands.

"I can't do it this way. Turn around," Draco opened the closet door so they could both face the mirror on the inside. He stepped behind Harry and reached around so he could tie the cravat from the proper direction. "That's better," he muttered, his mouth very close to Harry's ear.

Harry's heart pounded. Draco's lips were just slightly apart, the tip of his tongue held lightly between his teeth. He looked down his straight nose at the fabric as he twisted it into place. His breath was soft on Harry's ear and raised goosebumps on his arms.

"That's not too tight, is it?" he asked quietly.

"It's fine," Harry croaked with difficulty. He felt exposed, standing before the full length mirror with Draco pressed up against him, arms curled around his shoulders. He worried that he might inadvertently become aroused and give the other boy the wrong idea. Because it would most certainly be the wrong idea. Draco Malfoy was the wrong idea. He didn't think he could live down the humiliation.

"There," Draco smiled at his work in the mirror. His chin was nearly resting on Harry's shoulder, hands lingering at his jacket lapels. His mouth quirked and he looked up into the reflection of Harry's eyes. "Doesn't that look better?" He chuckled in his throat.

The sound went straight to Harry's groin. He jerked away and stammered a thank you, his cheeks burning and his hands jammed into his pockets.

Draco watched him fidget with half-lidded interest. "Was it something I said?" He asked rhetorically. He turned and slipped his feet into a pair of shoes and strode to the door. "Come on," he called over his shoulder.

Harry followed, speechless and embarrassed. He knew that Draco understood the source of his discomfort. He was suddenly glad that they were done with school. If Draco had found out that he was queer back at Hogwarts, the whole student body would have known by morning. He reminded himself firmly that Draco was not his friend, he was an mean, nasty prat who was using Harry's humiliation for entertainment

Draco skipped down the grand staircase to the foyer and out through the front door. They walked down the long driveway to the narrow country road that led past the mansion. An old lorry puttered by with a bed full of straw. Harry wondered where they were going. This part of the countryside was still rather rural, with large fields separating the wealthy settlements that dotted the landscape. There were no businesses within walking distance.

They crossed over to the field on the other side and made their way through the tall grass to the tree line. Draco's stride was confident, he knew the landscape well and clearly had a destination in mind. Harry stumbled in his formal shoes over rocks and dips, and he knew he had already sweated pit stains into his long sleeve, high collared shirt. He peeled his jacket off and carried it under his arm, but he was reluctant to untie the cravat that had only just been knotted properly for the first time.

They entered the woods and wound their way through the trees until finally they came to a babbling creek that emptied into a small pond and then trickled out of the other side. The trees crowded close to the water’s edge, shading the water from the sun. Harry could sense the slippery, almost subconscious awareness that magic was present. The pond was preternaturally clear, with a clean, sandy bottom, and no sign of the muck or algae that one would expect in a wooded pond. He suspected the water had been charmed to remain clean.

Without saying a word Draco stripped down naked and waded in. He dove under and kicked, then surfaced at the other edge. “Come on, Potter,” he called. His feet touched the bottom and he stood, the water lapping around his hips. He pushed his short hair back with his hands and squeezed the water out. His compactly muscled chest was speckled with droplets that caught the dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves. Harry swallowed hard.

He undressed slowly, not sure whether he was doing so because he was ordered to, or because he wanted to. A cool swim sounded marvelous after that sweltering walk in too many clothes. He could feel Draco’s eyes on him as he stripped down to his underpants, and he turned away to pull them off. He laid his glasses on top of his shirt, then cupped his hand over his genitals as he waded into the water, too bashful to let the other boy see. He only went in up to his navel and stood awkwardly with his toes dug into the sandy bottom.

“Don’t tell me you don’t know how to swim,” Draco dove under and swam over to him on one breath.

“Of course I know how to swim,” Harry said as he surfaced. “I’m just usually wearing something.”

Draco grinned devilishly. “Afraid a little fishy is going to swim up your tadger?” he dashed his hand out and flicked Harry’s knob under the water.

“Watch it, Master Draco,” he grimaced as he shielded his crotch. “Bollocks!”

“Those, too,” Draco swiped again. Harry caught his wrist and gave him a warning look.

Draco twisted free and pushed a splash of water at him with the palm of his hand. He dove away while Harry rubbed his eyes clear.

“That’s not funny, sir,” Harry leaped after him. “Fuck!”

“You can’t stop calling me sir,” Draco taunted in a sing-song voice, diving out of the way and eluding Harry’s splash.

“Every time I call you sir, I’m really trying to say something much worse,” Harry gritted his teeth and lunged at Draco, intent on dunking his head under the water. Draco dove and swam past, grabbing Harry's ankle and making him yelp.

“So you’re saying,” Draco surfaced in the shallows and stood, his knob and bollocks and everything visible to the world, “when you say sir, you really want to call me a wanker.”

“Or arse basket, or snidey little fucker,” Harry swooped his hand through the water and splashed Draco up to his chest.

“Try it,” Draco waded in deeper and splashed Harry in the face. “Call me an arse basket.”

“Try it yourself, sir,” Harry snapped. “Bloody bollocks!”

“What happens if you just want to call me sir?” Draco asked, wading closer and holding his hand at the ready as though prepared for a splash sneak attack.

“I would never want to call you sir, sir,” Harry glowered. “Balls,” he added.

Draco stepped up closer, so that their hands could nearly touch, “Try it,” he said, a teasing smile on his lips.

“Try what, sir?” Harry’s stomach tensed up. “Shite.”

Draco didn’t stop. He pushed right up against Harry, so that their thighs and stomachs and chests were touching, slipping wetly against each other. His nose bumped Harry’s. “Call me sir,” he said, chuckling deep in his throat.

That sound, it went straight to Harry’s groin again, just like earlier. He inhaled sharply and felt himself stiffen, felt it touch Draco’s thigh as it did.

Draco tilted his head so that his lips were almost brushing Harry’s. “Call me sir,” he said softly, his eyes half-lidded and his fingers tracing lightly up Harry’s hips.

Harry closed his eyes and took a shuddering breath. This couldn’t happen. Not with Draco Malfoy. He tried to talk himself down, but the blood was already rushing from his brain to other destinations. His fingertips and toes tingled and he felt light-headed.

“Say it,” Draco’s lips brushed his with a feathery tickle. “Say, I want to kiss you, sir.”

Harry released his breath and felt goosebumps crawl up his arms and buttocks. He opened his eyes and stared into Draco’s deep silvery irises.

“No,” he said, still rising in pulsing increments. He felt Draco’s breath quicken as he stiffened up against him.

“Call me sir,” Draco said again breathlessly.

“No,” Harry whispered.

Draco pushed forward and kissed him hungrily. Harry pressed back, his hands grabbing desperately at Draco’s arms. They pulled each other close and ground their hips together, their members rubbing in mutual rhythm. Draco’s tongue pushed against Harry’s, insistently exploring his mouth. Harry licked and tasted back, his head swimming with need.

Draco slid his hands down and cupped his buttocks, pulling Harry in as tightly as he could. Harry grasped at the slippery skin along Draco’s back and held on for dear life as they thrust against each other. They stirred up a noisy symphony of water splashing, the moist slap of skin on skin, mouths smacking wetly, and heavy breathing.

It didn’t take long, Harry was so overcome by the sudden contact that he came without a single tug. Draco felt him come and came himself, gasping against Harry’s cheek and spasming his hips. They held each other for balance and caught their breath as the intensity of climax crested and then slowly washed away.

“Who would have guessed,” Draco huffed between breaths, “that Harry Potter was bent, too?”

“I didn’t know about you, I swear,” Harry said thickly, his brain still in a jumbled state.

Draco finally released him and pushed away into the water, floating on his back and fluttering his fingertips to stay afloat. He gave Harry a twisted smile and winked. “This summer just got a lot more interesting,” he said.

Harry splashed his own face to clear his head and tried not to think about it. If he thought too hard about it, he would be terribly confused.


	10. Chapter 10

They emerged from the water a short while later, then dressed while still damp. Their clothes clung wetly to them and their shoes squelched as they walked back to the house. They didn’t talk much, they didn’t touch or acknowledge that anything had changed. As far as Harry was concerned, nothing had changed. He spent the time walking back to the house shoring up his mental defenses, reminding himself that Draco was not his friend, that he was here against his will, and that an orgasm in a pond didn’t change any of that.

They entered the house through the front door and Draco mounted the grand staircase to his suite on the second floor. He hesitated a few steps up and looked back at Harry. Harry ducked his head and kept going, straight through and out of the back of the house to the servant quarters.

He changed into a new uniform and stood before his mirror, trying to replicate the cravat results Draco had produced just a few hours earlier. He managed a reasonable approximation. He laid on his bed and stared at the ceiling, trying to decide how to make the best of the rest of the summer. He decided the only way to deal with it was to reset and continue on the same way as before, as though nothing had happened. No need to let Draco under his skin.

He thought about Draco’s skin. Pale and flawless from head to toe, with supple toned muscles down his chest and abdomen. His shoulders were strong but not bulky, and his legs were long and lean. His mouth was warm and inviting and-- Harry stopped himself. This was the sort of thinking he ought to stop before it started.

He laid in his bed and struggled to think of anything but what his body wanted. He wondered how he would write a letter to Hermione and Ron now, without the earth shattering news of this one-time hookup somehow leaking out of his pen and onto the page. They couldn’t find out. He might as well have hooked up with Voldemort himself. He shuddered involuntarily at the thought and admitted to himself that it was a bit extreme.

He hardly noticed the passing time. When the insistent rapping started at his door he had to check the clock to see what time it was. Supper already. He opened the door and thanked Sugar, who grumbled and wandered down the hall. Harry made his way to the main house and paused in the kitchen to inspect the plates to see what would be served that night. Looked like salmon.

He entered the dining room and was careful not to assume familiarity. He waited for Draco to look up and invite him to sit at his father’s right elbow. He kept his face carefully composed, even when Draco peered at him wonderingly, as though trying to read his thoughts. He told himself to just act normal. No friendlier, but certainly no colder than before.

“Ah Randolph,” Lucius looked up unsteadily, his eyes distant and unfocused. “How is your father doing?

“My father is well, sir,” he said pleasantly. “Although he’s awaiting trial for the wanton destruction of thirty-two sailboats at the annual Featherbottom Regatta.”

Draco choked on his water and coughed uproariously. Lucius reeled back in alarm as his son desperately tried to catch his breath. Harry flushed, just a little bit proud of himself for causing such a reaction. Draco wiped his eyes and gasped for breath, then took another sip of water to settle his throat.

“Apologies, Father,” Draco croaked. “I don’t know what came over me.” He shot Harry a look that was both annoyed and amused. “For that, Potter, you can refill my water glass.”

Harry conceded that it was probably only fair and did so without much attitude, although he did set the glass beyond Draco’s reach just to make sure he knew that he wasn’t going to suddenly start being obedient. Draco had to stand up and lean down the table to retrieve it, but didn’t fuss.

“What did you do with yourself today, Father?” Draco attempted to engage Lucius in conversation.

Lucius sat up from his plate and looked around in confusion. “Where are our guests?” he demanded angrily.

“There are no guests, just finish your dinner,” Draco sighed and gave up. Lucius rose from the table and wandered directionlessly around the room until Draco shouted for Iris to lead him upstairs.

“Do you need anything else from me?” Harry asked quietly as the housekeeper led the confused man away. Draco was squeezing the bridge of his nose between his fingers, as though praying for patience.

“No,” he said.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They managed to avoid talking about the encounter at the pond, as though mutually loathe to let it affect their strange equilibrium between friendliness and hostility. Draco spent hours in his bedroom, pouring over Lucius’ parchments and trying to find any shred of sanity in them. Harry passed the time by wandering the grounds, poking through the books in the library and occasionally fiddling with the instruments in the music room. He and Draco took breakfast and supper together, but Draco’s mind was otherwise occupied.

On Monday morning Harry was woken up as usual by Sugar’s persistent rapping. Before departing, Sugar added an additional instruction to prepare for a trip to London. He told Harry that he would find a more contemporary suit in his wardrobe today, and to please dress before taking Master Draco his meal.

Sure enough there was a new item in his closet, an exquisitely tailored charcoal gray suit with a black necktie that would look presentable in any muggle setting. Harry showered, shaved and dressed quickly, then paused when he got to the tie. He had not had many occasions to wear a necktie, and his memory of how to knot one was years out of date. He was certain he hadn’t had to do it since he was thirteen and forced to attend some ridiculous formal affair in honor of his cousin Dudley.

He slid it around his neck and looked at himself in the mirror. He could try to knot it himself, of course. It would probably come back to him after a moment’s thought. Then again, he might get it wrong and it would end up looking terrible. He wondered if Draco would want to see a specific type of knot. Really, he ought to just leave it and see if Draco would want to give him a hand. Yes, that would be the right thing to do.

He took a moment to push his hair around until the messy short spikes looked intentional rather than accidental. He then rushed to the house and loaded up the butler tray, not a bit in denial about what was on his mind. He had put a lot of effort establishing his commitment not to cross the line with Draco Malfoy again, but here he was with a tie that needed tying and he was throwing it all out of the window. He knew it, but he went anyway.

He tapped on the Draco’s door and entered at his bidding. Draco had just gotten out of the shower and was in the middle of toweling his hair dry. He looked up at Harry’s perfectly fitted suit and nodded approvingly. He smirked when he noticed the tie that was slung around his neck like a scarf.

“Honestly, you can’t tie that one either?” he scoffed. “You have a lot to learn, Potter.”

He gestured for Harry to come to him, and a warmth spread through Harry’s abdomen. He tried to look resigned to the necessity and stood before Draco with arms slack at his sides. Draco was still undressed with just a towel around his waist. The corner of his mouth lifted and he turned Harry by his shoulders so he could knot the tie from behind.

There was no subtlety to it. Draco slid his hands sensually over Harry’s shoulders and pressed his groin up against his arse. He adjusted the length of the two ends and started folding them together, his eyes sparkling mischievously in the mirror as he worked. He nuzzled Harry’s hair and snaked his tongue out, just barely licking the curve of his ear. Harry was instantly hard.

“Not right now,” Draco finished and turned Harry back around to face him, his expression regretful. “We have a difficult day ahead of us.”

Harry was grotesquely disappointed. He was also disgusted with himself. He hadn’t asked what Draco’s plans were, he had simply obeyed his instructions and run to him with the flimsiest excuse for physical contact. He lectured himself bitterly as Draco dressed in his own suit and tie, and found himself feeling rather withdrawn over breakfast.

“Aren’t you at all curious about our trip to London today?” Draco asked as he lifted the silver serving lids and inspected the morning’s fare.

“Sure,” Harry poured himself a cup of tea. Draco lifted his cup and raised an eyebrow. Harry sighed and poured him a cup, too. “The bleeding pot is right next to you,” he muttered.

“We’re going to St Mungo’s to try to get my father committed,” Draco said grimly. “I’ve done a bit of calling around and the only way I can get the Ministry to lift the house arrest and get him transferred is if I get a healer to testify to his madness.”

“What about Azkaban?” Harry asked. “I thought the criminally insane went there.”

“My father was acquitted, mostly” Draco reminded him. “He’s technically not a criminal.”

“But he’s on house arrest. They’re splitting hairs,” Harry said.

“It doesn’t much matter where he goes,” Draco added. “I can’t get him out of this sodding house either way unless someone testifies on my behalf.”

“Why do you need me there?” Harry asked bluntly.

“You’ll be my personal assistant, of course,” Draco smiled. When Harry didn’t smile back he sighed and averted his eyes. He was quiet for several moments before finally speaking again. “Haven’t you figured out yet that I just need someone around for support?”

“Why can’t you ask me as a friend?” Harry asked reproachfully.

“Because you’re not my friend,” Draco said. “You never have been. You never wanted to be, not from the first day we met.”

“You didn’t want to be friends with me,” Harry countered. “You wanted to be friends with my scar. And,” he added, “you didn’t want me to be friends with Ron.”

Draco didn’t reply. Harry felt silly, quibbling over a brief encounter when they were eleven years old, as though that were the worse offense between them.

Draco finished his breakfast, returned to the bathroom to coiff his short blond hair, then beckoned for Harry to follow him downstairs. The limousine was waiting in the circular drive, the door open and waiting, and the phantom driver up front. They climbed inside with a binder filled with Lucius’ parchments and set off for the city. They drove in silence for the first fifteen minutes. Then Harry couldn’t keep his mouth shut any longer.

“Besides, what about all of the other opportunities you had to be my friend? You had eight years, Master Draco! Bollocks!” Harry whacked his fist against the door handle as the title of respect slipped out of his mouth.

Draco gazed out of his window and said nothing.

“And if you just needed someone to be supportive, you could have asked any of your cronies,” Harry added. “I’m sure Goyle would have happily put on a suit and poured your tea.”

“I don’t want someone to happily pour my tea,” Draco said quietly.

“And just so you’re clear, the Blood Oath doesn’t extend to the bedroom,” Harry plowed forward. “So if that’s the reason you want me here instead of one your friends, you can forget it.”

Draco looked up then, his eyes hurt and his mouth drawn.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Harry felt guilty, which made him feel defensive. “Eight years, Master Draco. Fuck!” he smacked himself in the forehead. “Fucking bloody hell.”

“There was never time to start over,” Draco said flatly, his voice devoid of emotion. When Harry looked up Draco was composed and cold again. “Maybe it’s impossible to start over.”

“Bollocks,” Harry spat. “You can always try.”

“I’m trying now,” Draco pointed out.

“By holding me against my will? By making me work for you?” Harry’s eyes bugged out.

“There was never going to be another chance,” Draco said, something akin to sadness coloring his voice.

“Okay fine, you’ve got your chance. End the blood oath and let’s see if we can be friends,” Harry pleaded.

“You’ll leave,” Draco said.

“Yeah, I might!” Harry shouted. “But I might not. At least I’d have a choice.”

Draco regarded him thoughtfully for a moment, then returned to the view outside of his window.

The rest of the drive into the city slipped by silently. Gradually buildings began to dot the landscape, growing taller as they neared their destination. Finally the limo pulled up in front of a red-bricked condemned building. Draco and Harry stepped out of the car, looking conspicuous in their impeccable attire. Harry secretly felt amazing in his suit, he felt like it made him look powerful, respectable, and maybe a bit like a classy spy. Draco looked like he was born to wear his suit. It emphasized the triangular shape of his strong shoulders and long, lean torso. And, Harry admitted to himself with a bit of annoyance, his arse looked fantastic.

Draco looked around to make sure no one was watching, then approached the entrance window and stepped through. Harry quickly followed.

As much as he resented being out in public as Draco Malfoy’s servant, particularly since the chances were good that he would run into someone he knew, he felt obligated to behave respectfully for the task at hand. He held the parchment binder and stood back an appropriate distance as Draco spoke with the Welcome Witch at the reception desk. She nodded several times, and then directed him to the stairs.

“Fourth floor,” Draco said under his breath as they set off. They mounted the stairs and found their way to the locked ward for long-term residents. Draco stood calmly at the barrier and waited. Harry couldn’t help but fidget.

“If you do not stop I will personally make sure you stay here as a patient,” Draco snapped.

“Who are we waiting for?” Harry shifted the binder from one hand to another, snagging the buttons on his jacket.

“We are waiting for the senior Mediwizard who manages my Mother’s care,” Draco spotted Harry’s dishevelment and snapped his fingers. Harry stepped within reach and Draco straightened his tie, brushed down his jacket, and unfastened the bottom button. “Never the bottom one, Potter. Don’t you know anything?” His hand lingered on Harry’s lapel, which made Harry want to fidget even worse.

“Mister Malfoy,” a rich contralto voice reverberated down the long corridor. Draco released Harry’s jacket.

“Madam Cacciatore,” Draco extended his hand in greeting as the diminutive healer strode purposefully towards them.

“I do not shake hands,” the woman said. “Best not to spread toxins and hexes.” She looked up at them through a thick black fringe and square spectacles. Her lime green robe was neatly arranged and marked with several insignias of competency.

“Right,” Draco dropped his hand and frowned.

“And you are?” the Healer turned to Harry. Harry was used to being recognized by his scar, but she didn’t even glance up at it.

“Harry Potter,” he supplied.

“As I thought. Please come with me,” Madam Cacciatore turned smartly and led them to the locked ward. She lifted the barriers and they followed her through.

The hallway was lined with simple white doors, each with a square window inset at eye-level. It was mostly quiet, although the occasional howl or shriek managed to escape one of the sealed rooms. The hair on the back of Harry’s neck stood on end as he realized they were surrounded by madness. Wizards and witches who had lost their grip on the real world came to stay here, usually for the rest of their lives. He quaked at the idea of living out his days in one of these small, bleak cells.

Madam Cacciatore paused before a door halfway down the hall. She tapped politely and waited for the occupant to invite them in. “We usually lock these rooms, but Madam Malfoy has permission to manage her own privacy.”

The door cracked open and a large blue eye peeked out at them. The door slammed shut.

“Madam Malfoy, please open the door,” Madam Cacciatore called.

“One moment!” Narcissa called musically. They could hear shuffling around and clattering. Finally the door swept open and Narcissa smiled broadly as she secured her long blond hair in a large opalescent clip.

“Draco, darling,” she drew her son into the room and deposited a kiss in the air just above his cheek. “Madam Cacciatore,” she nodded gracefully at the small Mediwizard as she entered. She then smiled politely at Harry, “Hello, have we met?”

“Harry Potter, Mother,” Draco’s voice sounded exhausted. Narcissa stared at him blankly.

“Randolph Featherbottom,” Harry offered his hand. Narcissa accepted with a curtsey. The Mediwizard regarded him curiously.

The room was scarcely bigger than Harry’s servant quarters. It housed a bed and a desk and a chest of drawers, which Narcissa had decorated with various objet d'art and bottles of fragrances. There didn’t seem to be a potion or magical artifact in sight.

“Please forgive the decor,” Narcissa stammered apologetically. “They allow me to stay here while I’m volunteering with the children.”

“How are you feeling today, Madam Malfoy?” the Healer asked.

“Brilliant,” she said brightly, her eyes too wide and her smile straining at the corners.

“Excellent, I’ll be back this afternoon to check in on you. Will you be participating in group session today?” Madam Cacciatore asked.

“Oh!” Narcissa looked at Draco nervously. “I help run the group session when I’m here, dear. Yes, I will be in attendance.” She laughed with just a hint of hysteria.

The Mediwizard led them back out of the room and Narcissa slammed it shut behind them. They retreated back the way they came and followed her to a corner office with a heavy wooden desk and a pair of neatly upholstered chairs. She sat behind the desk and sighed with the world-weary air of someone who had seen too much. Harry and Draco sat across from her.

“Your mother’s condition is unchanged, I’m afraid,” the Mediwizard said bluntly. “She is persistently delusional but she does not pose a risk to herself or others. As long as she continues to pay for her residency, she may come and go as she wishes. And if she does not wish to stay she may leave at any time.”

“I’m actually here to speak with you about my father,” Draco held out his hand to Harry for the binder. “As you may know, his condition is significantly worse than my mother’s. He needs constant care that I am not capable of providing. However, the Ministry has imposed house arrest on him, which has prevented us from having him committed.”

“I see,” Madam Cacciatore folded her hands neatly on the desk.

“If I can get a high ranking Healer to testify to his madness, the Ministry may lift their order and we could have him committed to your facility.” Draco passed the binder across the desk. “We found him hiding in a state of neglect in a room in our home. These were his writings. My mother believes he was trying to resurrect the Dark Lord.” He smiled ruefully.

“We can review this and determine whether we feel he deserves an evaluation,” Madam Cacciatore set the binder aside without opening it.

Draco seemed taken aback by her lack of interest of his request. He looked at Harry with a bewildered expression, seemingly at a lack for what to do next.

“I apologize,” Harry spoke up. “But is there a reason you would not want Lucius committed to your care?”

Madam Cacciatore sat back in her chair and steepled her fingers beneath her chin. “Frankly our mental health ward is overcrowded and understaffed since the war,” she said. “When the Dark Lord was defeated his followers were struck mad, one and all. Those who were convicted of criminal charges were sent to Azkaban. Those who were not, by and large, came here. Your father, Mister Malfoy, is just one of many lost minds who need our services.”

Draco had no response. He leaned on his elbow and worried his lower lip with his fingers. Harry knew that in his current role as a personal assistant he had already spoken out of turn. But he felt he should help, somehow. Especially since Draco seemed unable to negotiate.

“If resources are the problem, maybe funding would help,” Harry suggested, looking to Draco to see if he understood his meaning. Draco sat up and looked at him with wide eyes.

“Of course,” he said. “If a donation or a pledge of ongoing support would help, or if we can help organize a fundraiser, we can do that,” he said. “It’s the least the Malfoys could do.”

Madam Cacciatore finally smiled. “I appreciate your understanding of our situation,” she said. She reached over and drew the binder of Lucius’ parchments towards her. “I will speak to our funding manager and he will be in touch. I will be sure to review your father’s materials right away.”

Draco stood and extended his hand to shake, and then self-consciously lowered it as she demurred. Harry stood, too, and sensed that the meeting would be over in mere seconds. 

“Can I ask a question?” he blurted out as the Mediwizard walked them to the door. “Why don’t Lucius or Narcissa remember me? They remember a fake name, but they forget my real name as soon as I say it.”

“If you were to visit our other Death Eater residents, you would experience the same thing again and again,” Madam Cacciatore nodded. “For as famous as you are in the wizarding world, Mister Potter, you are completely forgotten among the Dark Lord’s followers. It is a common unifying feature of their madness, that Harry Potter never existed.” And with that, she sent them on their way.

Harry didn’t know what to think. He mused privately as he and Draco made their way back to the stairwell and down to the ground floor.

“Oh come on,” Draco said finally as they reached the lobby. “You’re Saint bloody Potter to the rest of the world. It can’t honestly bother you that a bunch of buggery tossers can’t remember your name.”

“I guess it shouldn’t,” Harry agreed. “It just seems like, of anyone, they should remember most.”

“It’s probably best that they don’t,” Draco pointed out. “If any of them breaks out and wants revenge, they won’t know who to go after.”

“True,” Harry finally smiled.

They exited and emerged onto the sidewalk in front of the dilapidated brick storefront. They looked at each other and Harry couldn’t help fidgeting as Draco stepped back and eyed him appraisingly.

“That suit looks smashing on you,” Draco said as though it were a mere statement of fact. “It would be a shame to waste it on such a short trip. Would you like to get lunch?”

“You’re asking me?” Harry was suspicious.

“I’m trying,” Draco shrugged.

“Okay then,” Harry nodded.

They summoned the limousine and made their way across the city to an expensive tea room that looked out over the Thames. Draco spoke quietly to the hostess and they were led to a hidden room behind a tapestry that separated the muggle side from the magic side. The lavishly enchanted decor was intimidating and Harry was concerned that he was, as Draco would say, too “working class” to dine in such an establishment.

They were seated at a small table near the window with a clear view of the waterfront. Draco recognized a few of the diners in the small space and nodded a greeting here and there. “They’re talking about us,” he said under his breath as they studied the menu. “Malfoy and Potter dining together, very interesting.”

“If anyone hears me call you ‘sir’ the rumors will get weird,” Harry raised an eyebrow, reminding Draco that the provision was still in place. 

“Then try not to,” Draco smirked.

“Or you could revoke the command,” Harry said, but he knew his words would fall on deaf ears. Draco enjoyed his discomfort too much to let it go. “You said you were trying,” he complained.

“I am,” Draco looked up from his menu. “But I’ve got to be me,” he grinned.

Harry followed Draco’s lead when ordering and choosing utensils. All in all he felt like he made it through lunch without any notable faux pas that might be seen by the wizarding world’s elite. When the dishes were cleared they enjoyed a last cup of tea before heading back to the manor.

“I feel like James Bond in this suit,” Harry said, raising his teacup and quirking his eyebrow in what he hoped was a dashing manner. To his surprise Draco actually blushed and shifted nervously in his chair. “You like it, don’t you?” he asked, feeling braver.

“I’d be daft not to,” Draco hid his flustered smile behind his own cup. He cleared his throat and averted his eyes, focusing instead on arranging the unused flatware on the table in front of him. “But I’ve always liked how you,” he cleared his throat again, “how you look in anything.” he finished.

“Have you?” Harry was genuinely surprised. “I never knew.”

“Well it wouldn’t have gone over well if you had, would it?” Draco seemed almost nervous. Harry realized how different his confidence was when he was out in the world rather than home.

“I noticed you, too,” he said honestly, looking around belatedly to see if anyone was within listening distance.

“Did you?” Draco looked up, his gray eyes catching the afternoon light.

“Have you seen you?” Harry cocked his head and smiled. He was enjoying Draco’s discomfiture.

Their banter was interrupted by the waitress, who approached to conjure a refilled teapot. Draco and Harry smiled awkwardly and thanked her, and sipped quietly until she was out of earshot.

“Who is James Bond?” Draco finally said.

“Oh,” Harry realized he’d made a reference to the muggle world. “He's a film character who wears fancy clothes a lot. The suit made me think of him.”

“I’ve never seen it,” Draco shook his head. “I’ve never been to the cinema, actually.”

“What?” Harry was outraged. “How is that possible?”

“We don’t do muggle things,” Draco shrugged. Harry didn’t know how to respond.

They decided it was time to head back and returned to their limo. As they were climbing in Harry heard someone call his name. He looked up and saw Oliver Wood waving from across the wide, busy boulevard. Oliver was as handsome as ever, and his face lit up as he called for Harry’s attention. Harry paused with his hand on the car door and waved back. He could feel himself blush at the attractive boy's grin.

Draco stepped out and peered over the top of the car to see who Harry was waving to. Harry saw the surprise on Oliver’s face as he took in the sight before him. Harry Potter in an expensive suit, climbing into a limousine with Draco Malfoy. Draco looked at Harry, then back at Oliver, whose face was filled with questions he was too far away to ask.

“Let’s go,” Draco said and sat back down. Harry nodded goodbye to his friend and frequent wanking fantasy and got into the car.

They rode in silence for a while. Harry was embarrassed but he couldn’t pinpoint why. Oliver had seen him with Draco. And while he wasn’t embarrassed to be seen with Draco, he did feel it necessitated some explanation. How could it not? And Draco had seen how he had looked at Oliver, he hadn’t missed the blush or the unconcealed desire Harry felt whenever he looked at the older Gryffindor boy. Draco didn’t say anything about it, he simply served himself a drink from the chilled compartment and left it open for Harry. As the buildings thinned out and the landscape turned more suburban and then rural, Draco finally spoke.

“I have a task for you,” Draco said without looking up from his drink. “I want you to manage the house staff.”

Harry thought carefully before responding. “Why?”

“They don’t listen to me,” Draco inspected the ice in his glass. “You’re good at getting people to do things. I couldn’t get that sodding Healer to look at my father’s writings but you did.”

“You’re the master of the house, you should tell them what to do,” Harry protested. “I don’t know the first thing about running a household.”

“You don’t have to run the household,” Draco corrected him. “They’ll do that part. You’ll be the one telling them to do it.”

“Rubbish,” Harry shook his head.

“They shouldn’t have to be told to open the drapes. They shouldn’t have to be told to mind my father. And no more serving twenty four seats at supper.” Draco added. “They don’t listen to me. But they’ll listen to you.”

“Are you asking me to do it or telling me?” Harry asked.

Draco was quiet for a moment. “I could just order you to do it,” he said.

“Is this punishment because I was looking at Oliver Wood?” Harry asked angrily.

“I’m not jealous,” Draco tossed his glass into the drink compartment and snapped it shut.

“Are you sure?” Harry demanded. “Because it seems like you’re punishing me.”

“What would I have to be jealous about?” Draco glared at him. “You said yourself that we’re not friends. We’re certainly not more than that.”

“I thought you were trying to be my friend,” Harry pointed out.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Draco turned his attention to the countryside rolling past his window. “Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter are not friends.”

“You are jealous, you daft git,” Harry leaned forward and tried to get the other boy to look at him. “I never hooked up with Oliver Wood,” he said firmly. “He’s not into blokes.”

“He’s certainly your type, though,” Draco retorted. “It doesn’t matter because I’m not jealous. There’s nothing between us.”

“I don’t have a type,” Harry was getting frustrated.

“I don’t care,” Draco snapped.

“Dammit, Master Draco,” Harry squeezed his eyes shut and cursed, “Bollocks!”

He seized Draco’s arm and lunged at him, and pressed his mouth up against the other boy’s. Draco struggled at first, shoving with his hands and trying to pull away. But as Harry pushed deeper his hands slowed and he slipped his arms beneath Harry’s jacket. Harry slid his leg across so that he was straddling Draco’s lap. His hands clutched Draco’s collar and he stroked down his neck with his thumbs. Draco pulled him closer, his arms encircling Harry’s waist. Harry’s glasses jostled between them so he yanked them off and cast them aside.

"I'm not jealous," Draco said between kisses.

"Yes you are," Harry said as he raked his hands through Draco’s hair. "Say you want me," he said as he buried his tongue in Draco's mouth again. He worked his hand down between them and stroked Draco's groin through his trousers. Draco moaned in appreciation.

"I want you," he said into Harry's mouth.

Suddenly he rolled Harry off of his lap and onto the leather seat. He slid to the floor and immediately went to work unbuttoning Harry's trousers. He drew Harry's member into his mouth like a starving man. Harry grasped at the leather upholstery but could gain no purchase, so he reached down instead and held Draco's head as he guided it forward and back.

Draco rubbed himself as he worked. He was breathing heavily, and the sound drove Harry crazy. He rolled his head back on the seat and tried to hang on but he could feel the climax boiling and rising up.

“I’m going to come,” he gasped as a warning. Draco slipped his mouth free and tugged with his hand, bringing Harry to tremendous climax. Then Draco shuddered and pressed his head against the leather seat as he came inside his trousers. They both gasped and shuddered as the sensation washed through them and away. Draco had his head buried in the crook of his elbow and was breathing hard. Harry withdrew his wand and cast a cleansing spell, then zipped up and rearranged his suit. Draco was still sitting on the floor with his head down.

“Come here,” Harry took his hand and pulled him up onto the seat. He put his arm around the blond boy and drew his head down to his shoulder. He rested his cheek on Draco’s head and curled his other arm around him so he was fully encircled. After a moment the other boy’s hand moved hesitantly, then slid across Harry’s waist and encircled him back.


	11. Chapter 11

Harry thought a lot about something Draco had said on their outing to London. When he had asked him to rescind the command to call him sir, Draco had replied, “I’ve got to be me.” It said a lot, although Harry hadn’t picked up on it at the time.

No matter how things went, whether they actually became friends or whether they hooked up again, or whether they decided to play it cool, there would always be a part of Draco that needed to try to get under Harry’s skin. Even if they called a truce somehow and miraculously became best friends, Draco would always need some way to needle Harry until he reacted.

And he had to admit to himself that he took an inordinate amount of pleasure in upending Draco’s expectations. He hated being obligated to obey the other boy’s orders, but he took great joy in fulfilling the commands with the least acceptable results. Like being told to pour the tea but setting the cup out of reach, or refusing to improve his cravat knotting skills. He enjoyed obeying the letter of a command in a way that still didn’t give Draco the results he was looking for. And he suspected Draco preferred it when he didn’t fall into line.

He liked getting away with behavior that wasn’t acceptable in the Malfoy household. He liked playing right up to the line where Draco should have been angry, but instead eliciting a smile or a laugh. It became a challenge to be as defiant as he could be while denying Draco the righteous outrage he had been so well known for at school.

He started taking liberties with his uniform. Sometimes he wore the jacket inside out. He tied it around his shoulders like a cardigan on hot days. His cravat traveled about his person, sometimes as a headband, sometimes as an arm band. Every time he showed up out of sorts Draco ordered him imperiously to correct his attire, but always with an effort to conceal his amusement.

However, Harry never showed up to dinner with his uniform out of sorts. He continued to be scared of Lucius, and aside from inventing a preposterous life for Randolph Featherbottom, he did nothing that might raise the ire of the erratic and frequently incoherent man. On nights when Lucius was lucid enough to acknowledge Harry’s presence, he always asked how his father was doing. Harry started crafting more and more absurd responses purely for the snort of laughter they could elicit in his former rival. His ultimate goal in this game was to make Draco laugh so hard that he had to excuse himself from the table. It would be a small victory, but it gave him great pleasure to try

“My father is well, sir,” he said one night. “Although he’s still recovering from throwing his back out at the Centaur races. I told him to hire a jockey but he always insists.”

Draco dropped his chin to his chest with his finger hooked over his mouth, as though deep in thought. The slight tremble of his shoulders gave him away. Harry counted it as a win.

“My father is well, sir,” he said another night. “Although he caught a terrible case of the high altitude jiggle legs at a mountain top soiree.”

Draco turned his head and tried to conceal his laughter with a fit of coughing. Harry counted it as another win.

The other boy usually retaliated by ordering him to perform some kind of menial task. He once made Harry serve him a hot towel with tongs. He ordered Harry to fold crepes tableside and laughed at his completely incompetent performance. Harry hated the demeaning tasks, but knew they were part of a delicate balance.

In a way they both needed the hostility. It was somehow, in and of itself, a sort of friendship. They had negotiated a way to the end of their hatred for each other by accepting and expecting each other’s barbs. So with that understanding he should have seen Draco’s next request coming.

They were sitting out on the second floor balcony, lazily casting showy charms that did nothing more than make pretty shapes and colors in the air. Harry was dreadfully bored but knew if he said anything Draco would come up with something remarkably unpleasant to fill his time, just to enjoy his misery.

“Do you know how to drive?” Draco asked suddenly.

“No, sir,” Harry frowned. “Bollocks.”

“I want to get out of here tomorrow. Take a trip into town,” Draco stowed his wand in its holster and squinted up at the overcast sky. The July heat was in full effect but the clouds helped dampen it a bit.

“You have a limo,” Harry pointed out. They had taken a few trips into town in the limo before, usually just for a meal and a change of scenery.

“Yes but I think it would be more fun to have you drive me,” Draco raised his eyebrow.

“I’ll kill us both,” Harry shrugged carelessly. “Although that might be preferable to spending the rest of the summer in this sodding uniform and calling you sir.”

“I think I’d like to see a film,” he said. “In a muggle cinema. Let’s go see a film tomorrow. You can drive.”

“On one condition,” Harry said sternly. “You let me dress normally.”

“Fine, just this once,” Draco said magnanimously.

“And I don’t want to call you sir or Master Draco while we’re out.” Harry had put out that demand every time the other boy had asked him to accompany him out of the house. It had never been granted but he kept trying. It was the one part of this whole arrangement that he could find no amusing antidote to. He sincerely hated it.

“I’ll think about it.” Draco said.

The next morning Harry opened his trunk and looked through his clothing. He hadn’t unpacked since his arrival. It felt like a way to keep a piece of himself reserved, a piece of him that was unswervingly fixated on the end of the Blood Oath’s term of service. He fished out a pair of corduroys and his favorite graphic muggle t-shirt. It was maroon and had a picture of a guitar on it with flames along the body. He thought it looked rather cool.

The other staff eyed him suspiciously as he entered the main house out of dress code, but he swept by and mounted the service stairs without comment. He knocked on Draco’s door in a way that could almost be described as chipper. He felt amazing, comfortable in his own clothing, and he could almost pretend that he was here of his own volition, ready to head out into town with a friend.

“Come in,” Draco called.

Harry slid the doors open and his breath caught in his throat. Draco was in his underpants, holding up two shirts for comparison. The sunlight slanted across his bare chest, highlighting the subtle lines of his lean, muscled physique. Harry steadied his nerve and entered. They hadn’t touched since their trip to London and Harry was a bit hard up for it by now. But Draco hadn’t made another move, and Harry didn’t want to assume, so they had both kept their hands to themselves.

“Which one?” asked Draco.

“Green,” Harry said shortly and stared at his feet.

“Agreed,” Draco slipped the t-shirt over his head and stepped into a pair of strategically weathered indigo-dyed blue jeans. “What’s that on your shirt?” he asked.

“An electric guitar,” Harry wondered if it was a trick question.

“It’s an instrument? What does it sound like?” Draco asked as he laced up his shoes.

“You’re joking, right?” Harry was dumbfounded.

“I’m serious,” Draco stood and checked his reflection in the mirror. He smoothed his hair down with his hand and turned around with his arms extended. “This is okay for the cinema, right?”

“You look really great,” Harry winced and wished he’d chosen a less effusive response. His eyes defied his will and insisted upon ravaging the other boy, admiring the way his arse looked in those sodding jeans.

“Come here,” Draco waved Harry closer. He reached out and plucked the hem of his shirt up in both hands. He studied the guitar graphic with interest. When he looked up his face was very close to Harry’s. “I’d like to hear it. You’ll have to play me some music sometime.” His eyes twinkled. He knew Harry wanted it, but he wasn’t going to give it up. With a jolt, Harry realized that sex had become part of the game.

“Let’s go,” Draco brushed past him and headed down the front stairs.

Harry followed self-consciously, his pent up frustration set aside as he worried about the task that lay before him. He had only driven a car a couple of times in his life. Out in the circular drive one of the convertible sports cars had been dusted off, polished up, and made road-ready. The hood was down and the engine was running.

“I haven’t driven much,” Harry said warningly. “I might ruin the engine.”

“Then ruin it,” Draco slid into the passenger seat and buckled his seatbelt. “No one is using it anyway.”

Harry was shaking. He was terribly nervous about crashing, or being pulled over by muggle police. Draco seemed too calm, and Harry decided it must be an act. He climbed in behind the wheel and took a deep breath. He thought carefully and pressed down the clutch. He grasped the gear lever, shifted, and slowly let up the clutch as he applied the gas. For a second he thought it would be okay, but then he popped it and the car lurched forward and died.

Draco looked up in delight, his hair a bit mussed from the jolt. “Amazing!” he said. “You didn’t even get it out of the driveway!”

Harry scowled and depressed the clutch again. He cranked the engine and thankfully it fired up without hesitation. It took a few false starts for him to get the hang of shifting smoothly, but he finally managed to get the car rolling down to the end of the drive. He sat at the intersection between the driveway and the small rambling road that would take them into town and steeled his queasy stomach. Then he put it into gear and began to drive.

Draco teased him endlessly as they went. Harry was so nervous about shifting and braking that he didn’t want to go any faster than second gear would allow. Draco called him an old woman and announced that he could walk faster than Harry could drive. Harry gritted his teeth and tried to block out his running commentary, so that he could stay focused on not running off of the road.

The drive should have taken fifteen minutes. It took twice as long for Harry to navigate the distance. When they finally arrived at the cinema car park, Harry had to maneuver into a slot well away from the entrance in order to ensure that he wouldn’t hit another car. Draco reached over and pressed the switch to put the hood up, and they stepped out.

“That was absolutely worth it,” Draco grinned.

Harry glowered at him and pocketed the keys. “You forgot part of the deal,” he said.

Draco nodded and squinted at Harry thoughtfully. Finally he shrugged and announced, “You may stop calling me sir or Master Draco for the duration of this outing.”

“Thanks, you sodding wanker,” Harry’s face lit up with a huge grin. “It worked! I’ve been wanting to call you that for ages, you bloody bastard!”

“All right, get it out of your system,” Draco said tolerantly.

“Whatever you say, Buggery bollocksing arsehole,” Harry grinned.

“Now you just sound like you have a mental illness,” Draco rolled his eyes. “Come on.”

They crossed the car park and checked the marquee. They had no idea what any of the films were, so they tried to guess by title and poster art. They finally settled on one that had a picture of two men holding guns because it seemed like it would be exciting.

Draco kept a reserve of muggle currency, which Harry was relieved to learn since he hadn’t thought far enough ahead to wonder how they would purchase tickets. He insisted that Draco purchase a bag of popcorn and a pair of beverages, telling him it wouldn’t count as an authentic cinema experience without them.

Harry wondered if the other patrons could tell they were out of place. He had gone back and forth between the two worlds since he was eleven years old, but he had long felt like he'd lost some of his fluency in muggle affairs. Draco seemed baffled by the whole experience, which was surely remarkable to those who lived with this kind of normalcy every day. He guided Draco to a pair of seats in the middle of the row at the very back of the theater.

“Why are we way up here?” Draco asked, suspicious that Harry was setting him up for a poor viewing experience. It was the middle of the week and the middle of the day, so the rest of the seats were mostly empty.

“I don’t know,” Harry looked around. “I always sit at the back.”

“I’d better be able to see everything from here,” Draco grumbled as he sat in the thinly padded folding seat. “Not terribly luxurious, is it?” he asked.

“You wanted to experience the cinema,” Harry dug into the popcorn and crammed a handful into his mouth.

“Did you see the sweets for sale out there?” Draco asked. “I didn’t recognize any of them.” He took a sip from his drink. “I thought I saw Bertie Botts Beans but the name was wrong.”

“Their beans are probably just fruit flavored,” Harry said.

“I could go for a chocolate frog but I didn’t see those either,” Draco pouted.

“Theirs wouldn’t hop anyway,” Harry was amused by the other boy’s gripes. He didn’t like to be out of his comfort zone.

The lights dimmed and the first trailers came up. The sound was loud and the screen was huge. Draco’s eyes widened as the rapid-cut action fired off color and motion and sound. When the trailer finished he gawked at Harry with amazement.

“Was that it?” he asked. Just then the second trailer started and he jumped in surprise.

Harry enjoyed the role reversal. Draco had built their dynamic around his own comfort zone, with Harry constantly on edge and unfamiliar with what was expected of him. Now the shoe was on the other foot, as it were, and Harry was the one who could sit back and smirk knowingly at the other boy’s surprise.

The film finally started and Harry had to pay attention to follow the plot. It was a modern intrigue story, with exciting chase scenes and spy technology and lots of shooting. They were almost an hour in when Harry realized Draco wasn’t watching the screen. He was watching Harry.

“I can’t follow what’s happening,” Draco whispered.

“Do you want me to explain it to you?” Harry asked, pointing at the action.

“No,” Draco said simply.

“Okay,” Harry was confused. He turned his attention back to the screen but couldn’t concentrate. Draco was still watching him. “Why are you staring at me?” he asked.

“You’re making faces at the film,” Draco said with a small smile.

“I am?” Harry was suddenly self conscious. He hadn’t realized that he had been reacting to the action.

“You are,” Draco chuckled.

That sound, that particular laugh was keyed directly into the most sensitive part of Harry’s brain. He was suddenly not terribly interested in the film. He set the bag of popcorn on the floor and took a swig of his drink.

“There’s another cinema tradition you should experience, if you want it to count,” Harry said slyly.

“What’s that?” Draco eyed him warily.

Harry reached over and pulled Draco’s face to his and kissed him. Draco was startled and pulled back sharply. His eyes searched the theater for other patrons, but they were safely beyond the peripheral vision of the few who were present.

“And that, Malfoy, is why you sit at the back of the theater,” Harry grinned.

“Well aren’t you brilliant?” Draco relaxed a bit and allowed himself a small smile. “Shall we try it again?” he asked innocently.

Harry pulled the willing boy in and kissed him again. He wasn’t fooled by his act. It was part of the game.


	12. Chapter 12

The return trip was no less harrowing than the outbound one. Harry drove slowly, cringing in fear when frustrated drivers sped around him while flashing rude gestures. He had never been so relieved to see Malfoy Manor as the moment it came into view. They crawled their way up the drive to the front steps and Harry cut the engine with palpable relief. Draco grinned at him from the passenger seat.

“Don’t say a word,” Harry growled.

Draco hesitated before stepping out of the car. He was looking at the parlor windows with an annoyed twist to his mouth. “Are the drapes closed?” he demanded.

“I think so,” Harry said grimly. “Try to stay calm, sir.” He turned accusingly on the other boy, “Dammit, Master Draco! Fuck!”

Draco was too distracted by the drapes to notice Harry’s outrage. He marched up the steps and threw the front door open. Before he could shout for Iris, a strangled howl emerged from deep within the house. Draco and Harry ran toward the source.

Iris, Chef, one of the gardeners and both maids were clustered outside of the library, staring frightfully at the closed doors. Another howl rose from behind the inlaid ebony panels, and the staff huddled even closer together.

“What the bloody hell is going on?” Draco demanded, shoving between them and grasping the library doorknobs. They rattled but did not turn. He pounded on the door and shouted, “Father! Open this door right now.”

“How long has he been in there?” Harry asked. Five pairs of eyes turned his way but no one spoke up. “Iris, how long has he been in there?”

“Nearly an hour,” a creaky voice spoke up from around the corner. Sugar poked his head into view and grimaced unpleasantly. His left ear was bent and torn and he shuddered when he looked at the library door.

“Sugar went in to talk to him, to try to get him to unlock the door,” one of the housemaids said breathlessly. “Master Malfoy attacked him. He almost didn’t make it out alive.”

“That was very brave of you, Sugar,” Harry said firmly. “But please don’t go in again.”

“Open the bloody door!” Draco shouted again and tried ramming it open with his shoulder.

“Master Malfoy has stacked the furniture against the door,” Sugar said, his voice pessimistic.

“Then I’ll Apparate in,” Draco said.

“What if he attacks you, too?” Harry grabbed his arm to stop him.

“He hasn’t got a wand,” Draco said with a bravado Harry didn’t quite believe. Even an unarmed madman could inflict a lot of damage.

“He could have a knife,” Harry reminded him. “I’m coming with you.”

Draco nodded and grasped Harry’s arm in return. With the familiar vacuum-pop of movement they were suddenly inside of the library. Lucius was nowhere to be seen. The sofa and several tables and chairs were all pushed up against the doors, a feat that must have been difficult for the gaunt man. A howl rose up from beneath the large antique wooden desk and they realized simultaneously where Lucius was.

“Father, come out of there right now,” Draco demanded as Harry began moving the furniture away from the doors.

“The Dark Lord comes!” Lucius moaned in terror. “Draco, do you see him?”

“No, Father, the Dark Lord is dead,” Draco snapped. “Come out of there before I blast that desk into a million pieces.”

Lucius crawled out and stood, his arms open wide as though receiving Draco and Harry in blessing. He appeared to be wearing every robe in his wardrobe. He yanked at his hair and howled at the ceiling. “The Dark Lord is here!” he cried.

“Shut up, you daft old man!” Draco’s wand lashed out and he cast a stunning hex at the elder Malfoy. Lucius fell to the floor and stared blankly into space.

“How did this happen?” Draco turned on Harry. “We were only gone for two bloody hours!”

“He must have gotten out of his room,” Harry pushed the sofa back into place.

“How did he get out of his room, down the stairs, into the library, and move all of this furniture without somebody noticing?” Draco demanded.

“They’re not caretakers,” Harry said. “Maybe if he needs that much attention, you need to hire one.”

Draco opened his mouth to fire off a retort, then paused. He shook his head and his anger returned. “No, what I need is to get him out of this house. Where are those bloody St Mungo’s healers? They were supposed to look at his writings.”

“I think you’re going to have to make them an offer,” Harry handed Draco a table. To his surprise Draco actually accepted it and moved it back to its rightful place.

“How much do you think it would take?” Draco asked, absentmindedly accepting another table.

“Maybe a whole new floor,” Harry said thoughtfully. “They’re probably overdue for a mental health ward, could you fund an entire ward?”

“An entire ward?” Draco was horrified. “That’s a bit much, don’t you think?”

“Well,” Harry chose his words carefully. “Your family did play a big part in Voldemort’s return. And a lot of people died. Or were hurt. Or went mad. It would be a good way to make amends.”

“Rubbish,” Draco knelt by his father’s head. “Do you hear that? Do you hear what I’m going to have to do because of you?” He shook his head in disgust, “Of course you don’t. You’re not even in there anymore.”

Harry moved the last chair and unlocked the doors. The staff was still gathered on the other side. “Please move Master Lucius back to his suite,” Harry pointed to the gardener and one of the maids. They obeyed without question. He turned to the other maid, “The drapes are still closed. Please go open them.” She bowed her head and rushed off to do his bidding. Finally he turned to Iris and Chef, “Master Lucius should remain in his quarters tonight. He will not join us for dinner. Please set the table appropriately for two diners.” Iris and Chef murmured their understanding and departed.

Harry turned around and caught Draco staring at him with wonder. “Master Draco -- bollocks -- would you please ask the staff to gather in kitchen in thirty minutes?” Draco nodded. “They need to do better,” Harry said firmly, then departed.

Harry marched back to his room and retrieved a fresh uniform from his wardrobe. He dressed carefully, making sure everything was impeccable. He took his time with the cravat and managed an acceptable knot that actually looked like it was supposed to. He shined his glasses, checked his hair, and then headed resolutely back into the house. He didn’t know why he was bothering. He reminded himself that this was not his house, that Draco’s authority was not his concern. But he felt like he should do something, maybe because he was a Gyffindor, or maybe because Draco could have ordered him to but didn’t.

He was a few minutes early but the rest of the staff was punctual and he didn’t have to wait long. He stood near the stove and waited for them to settle. They regarded him warily, as though they weren’t sure what kind of authority he held over them.

“First off,” he said, “I just want to ask. Is everyone clear that Master Draco is the head of this household?” he cursed silently at his use of the title, in spite of the fact that it was probably appropriate in this case.

The small group shuffled, and a few looked dubious, especially the house elves. One of the gardeners raised his hand and spoke up. “Pardon me, but Master Malfoy has always been the head of the household.”

“Master Lucius is not fit to run this house. He is not well, and he will not improve.” He looked around to make sure everyone understood. “Does anyone here feel he is fit?” No one spoke up, so Harry continued, “From now on you will refer to Master Draco as Master Malfoy. And his father shall be Master Lucius. It’s a small change but it makes a difference.”

He grew more confident as he spoke. The staff was dubious, but they were listening. He told the two maids that they should adjust their routines to ensure the drapes and lights were cycled appropriately for the time of day. He ordered all fireplaces except for the one connected to the Floo network extinguished unless a room was to be occupied or the weather demanded it. He ordered Chef and Pater to serve only enough food for the number of diners and staff. He asked Iris to propose alternative dining arrangements that were more suitable for small gatherings, rather than setting up the entire formal dining table each night.

“Most importantly,” he concluded. “Master Malfoy, not Master Lucius, sets the standards from now on. It may be difficult to adjust at first, he may want to see things managed differently. But he is the rightful head of household and you should regard him as such, with the appropriate respect for his position as your employer.” The staff murmured agreement and he dismissed them. He had surprised himself, both with his ability to address the group, and with the strength of his instructions. 

He considered returning to his room for the night but his feet didn’t listen. He walked up the service stairs and nearly ran into Draco on the second floor landing. The sun was low in the sky but none of the lamps had been lit yet. Draco’s face was silhouetted by the fading light of dusk.

“Were you listening?” he asked.

“It was brilliant,” Draco’s eyes shone.

“You don’t need me to manage them. You just needed all of that said.”

“Thank you,” Draco bowed his head, visibly embarrassed by his gratitude.

“If you want to thank me you could give me another one of your Snitches,” Harry joked.

Draco nodded thoughtfully. “Okay. Come pick one out.”

Harry knew he should say no. He should return to his room and find something constructive to do with his evening. But he followed Draco down the corridor to his suite instead. And as soon as the door was closed behind him he seized Draco’s wrist, swung him around, and shoved him up against the carved panel.

He stared intensely into Draco’s eyes and tried to convince himself to leave. Today’s outing had been fun, but the return of the formal title command had reminded him that this wasn’t a friendship, they weren’t on equal footing. He knew he should turn around and go back to his quarters. But he didn’t. Draco didn’t struggle, didn’t protest. He returned Harry’s gaze unwaveringly, his expression expectant. He waited.

Harry pushed his hand through Draco’s hair, relishing the way the soft blond locks felt beneath his palm. He scowled and ran his fingers down Draco’s jaw to his chin. He reminded himself savagely that this was not his friend, and he should just leave.

Draco’s lips parted. He looked longingly into Harry’s face and when he spoke his voice was barely a whisper, “You may stop calling me sir and master.”

It was what Harry needed to hear. He plunged into Draco and kissed him passionately. Draco grabbed him and held him close, whimpering as Harry tugged roughly at his hair. Harry turned him around and walked him back to the bed, then pushed him down and climbed on top of him. He broke off from kissing with a wet smack and gazed down at Draco with a sense of power.

“I’m not going to do anything unless you order me to do it,” Harry said gruffly. Draco nodded, his face contorted with lust. “But you’re not going to order me to do anything unless I tell you to, do you understand?” The other boy nodded again. “I’m not going to kiss you again unless you order me to,” he said. "Order me now."

“Kiss me,” Draco’s voice was ragged with need. Harry obeyed and kissed him deeply and intensely.

“Tell me to get undressed,” Harry ordered.

“Undress us,” Draco said pleadingly.

“No,” Harry said firmly. “That's not what I said.”

“Don’t undress me,” Draco said quickly. "Just you."

Harry removed his uniform and cast it to the floor. He laid naked on top of Draco and kissed him again. His fingers explored beneath Draco's shirt and he reveled in the sensation of the other boy's hands on his bare back and arse. He ground his hips against the soft denim weave of Draco's trousers and knew the thin barrier between them was driving him mad. He took a deep breath and checked Draco’s face for willingness. “Tell me to shag you.”

Draco’s breath caught in his throat. He nodded, just barely, and he moaned desperately.

“Say it,” Harry said with a harder edge to his tone. “Tell me to shag you. Order me to shag you.”

“I order you to shag me,” Draco’s voice was hoarse.

Harry felt a raw animal need rise in him. He quickly undressed the boy beneath him and pressed his lips everywhere he could reach. Harry slipped one hand between Draco's legs and traced the rim of his furrowed entrance with his finger. Harry kissed him everywhere and his other hand groped and stroked. Harry worked a second finger in, then a third. Draco seemed like he could climax in that moment, but he was desperate for more. Harry whispered a wandless spell and ran his slick palm between them. He hooked Draco’s leg over his arm and pressed forward, entering with a gentle but confident thrust.

He shuddered as every nerve ending in his body approved resoundingly. Draco moaned and clutched at Harry’s shoulders. Harry held still, not pushing, but waiting.

“May I shag you, Master Draco?” Harry asked huskily, looking intensely into Draco’s eyes.

“Yes,” Draco gasped.

“Order me,” Harry commanded. “May I please shag you, Master Draco, sir?”

“Shag me, Potter,” Draco’s voice was desperate. “Shag me now.”

“Yes sir,” Harry’s head was spinning. He began to stroke rhythmically, slowly at first and gradually gaining speed.

“Shag me,” Draco gasped as Harry pushed.

Harry thrust until the whole bed creaked in rhythm with his movement. Draco pushed back insatiably, crying out for more. He reached down and wrapped Harry’s hand around his member and stroked with him, building the intensity even further. Harry thought his head might explode.

“Please sir, Master Draco,” Harry gasped, “May I come?”

“Yes,” Draco’s eyes were riveted on Harry’s face.

“Order me,” Harry cried.

“Dammit, Potter, I order you to come right now,” Draco commanded, his face contorted in delicious agony.

Harry threw his head back and shouted as he climaxed. Half a breath later Draco climaxed and cried out long and hard. They bucked against each other, furiously holding on as the powerful sensation rocked their bodies.

Harry collapsed into Draco’s arms as the pleasure peaked and faded. He shuddered and withdrew, kissing the other boy deeply as he slipped free. They held each other in a close embrace as the warmth of post-coital pleasure suffused their bodies.

“That was fucking amazing,” Draco finally managed, his voice thick and sleepy.

Harry had to agree. It was pretty fucking amazing.


	13. Chapter 13

They decided to take their supper in Draco's room, and as soon as they were finished they returned to the bed for another shag. Harry felt like he needed to taste every inch of the other boy before he would be satisfied. No more parceling it out, he wanted every bit of Draco Malfoy's exquisite body right now.

They eventually exhausted themselves and slept, arms cast carelessly across each other, legs entangled intimately. When they awoke in the morning there was no awkwardness, no shame. They freshened up in the loo and returned to the bed for more touching.

Their breakfast was delivered by Sugar, who kept his gaze averted and pretended not to notice the state of undress of the two boys. Harry didn't know whether house elves had a sense of propriety about same sex coupling but Sugar didn't make it his business.

Around midday they finally decided it was time to get a change of scenery. But not before a shower, which they decided to share. Harry simply couldn’t keep his hands off of his former rival. They exited the tub and he scooped his discarded uniform up off of the floor. Draco removed it from his hands and tossed it away, and pressed him up against the closet door.

“No more uniforms,” he said softly, stroking Harry’s hair and bumping their noses together. Harry smiled and kissed him again and again and again.

Draco lent him some clothing and they trampled down the stairs to the kitchen for lunch. Afterward they headed outside and wandered around the property for a bit. Harry caught Draco’s hand and led him to the car shed he’d found a while back. They slipped through the doors and sighed in relief as they escaped the sun.

“I haven’t been out here in ages,” Draco said as he touched the fender of the old luxury car.

“Seems daft to collect cars and then forget you have them,” Harry threw his leg over the seat of the motorcycle and smiled roguishly. “I’ll take this one off of your hands if you don’t want it.”

“I don’t know why we have that one,” Draco laughed. “Do you even know how to drive a motorcycle?”

“Nope,” Harry said as though it were irrelevant. Draco tossed his leg over the seat and climbed on behind him. He slid his arms around Harry’s waist and tucked in close. He kissed Harry’s neck and slipped his hands under his shirt in search of skin.

“Are we mad?” Harry asked roughly as he leaned into Draco’s sensual touch.

“I don’t think so,” Draco said between kisses. “But anything is possible.”

Draco climbed off and pulled Harry with him. They made their way over to the limousine and slid onto the spacious floor. They moved slowly, gently, savoring each touch. Harry had shagged before. The last day had been nothing but shagging. But now, as he looked down into Draco’s face and felt him rise beneath him, he understood what it meant to make love. He breathed in the scent of the other boy and tried to commit every curve of his muscles to memory. He looked into Draco’s gray eyes and wondered how they had come to this place. Draco looked back and Harry knew he felt it, too. When they climaxed together Harry could think of nowhere else he wanted to be.

They laid together in the back of the car, cradled in each other’s arms and listening to the birds chirping outside. Draco held Harry’s hand in his and traced lines in his palm. Harry could tell he wanted to say something but was reluctant to speak. He ran his fingertip down Draco’s forehead, down the ridge of his nose, down his soft lips, down his chin, down his neck, down his chest. Draco caught his hand and swept it to his mouth and kissed his knuckles.

Finally he said, “Let’s destroy the Blood Oath.”

Harry’s heart leapt. “Are you sure?”

“I don’t want you here if you don’t want to be here,” Draco said, voice gruff and defensive and filled with rejection. "Sorry," he swallowed nervously and furrowed his brow and. “What I mean is, do you want to be here?”

Harry thought hard about his question. He had a life he had planned on living. He had an apartment in the city with Ron. He was living in a diversion, an unanticipated detour from the main road. If given the option, wouldn’t he be better off if he got back on track?

Then again, why would he leave this? After years of frustration at school, with little more than a few one night stands and furtive bathroom hookups, why wouldn’t he stick around to see how this amazing thing played out? He asked himself what he would do if he woke up in the morning and the Blood Oath was gone. Would he rather go back to his life in London or would he rather roll over and see Draco Malfoy on the pillow next to him?

“I want to be here,” he said finally. “I want to see what it’s like to be friends with you. Really friends.”

Draco was visibly relieved. He laughed and melted into Harry’s arms. They climbed out of the car and got dressed, then with silent agreement returned to the house. Harry waited patiently while Draco retrieved the Blood Oath parchment from a locked chest in the credenza beneath his Snitch collection. He laid it on the table where they usually took their breakfast and they gazed down at it with mixed feelings.

“There’s a part of me that’s certain you’ll be gone by morning,” Draco said flatly.

“If that were a possibility, would you want to keep me here?” Harry asked. “I’m not going to promise you that I’ll stay just to get you to destroy the parchment. You should destroy it whether I want to stay or not.”

“I know,” Draco took a deep breath and pointed his wand at it. “Incendio,” he flicked and the parchment lit at the edges, then snuffed out.

Harry frowned and drew his wand. “Incendio,” he said clearly. Again, the edges burned for only a moment.

“Confringo,” Draco tried a stronger spell. The parchment ruffled but remained intact.

“Something is wrong,” Harry picked up the contract and inspected it closely.

Draco snatched it from his hand and tried to tear it in half. The paper twisted as though it were fabric, but would not tear. “So it can’t be destroyed?” he asked in disbelief.

“I don’t know. I’ve never done a Blood Oath before."

"In that case, couldn't we just agree mutually not to do what it says until its term is up?" Draco raised his eyebrows hopefully.

Harry took the parchment back and read it aloud. “If Draco Malfoy should win, Harry Potter must submit to employment as a personal servant at Draco Malfoy’s command, and live in residence at Malfoy Manor until Autumn.”

“So that’s simple,” Draco said hopefully. “I just won’t ask you to do anything.”

“I still don’t have the option to leave,” Harry said. “I’m not saying I want to leave, mind you. But I don't have a choice.”

“Maybe I could order you to leave if you want to go,” Draco offered.

“I doubt that would work. The oath says I will live in residence here,” Harry sighed in frustration. “Besides, that still wouldn’t be my choice.”

“Look,” Draco was nervous, “We’re almost to the end of July. Then there’s August. When does autumn start?”

“The equinox is September 22nd,” Harry laughed sharply. “Why didn’t we put down a date? Why did we say autumn?”

“That’s longer than I thought,” Draco agreed.

“I’m meant to report to the Academy on the equinox,” Harry remembered. “What if I’m stuck here?”

“It’ll be over then,” Draco reassured him. “It clearly says autumn, so you should be free on the equinox.”

“I hope so,” Harry murmured. He looked up and caught Draco trying to conceal hurt feelings. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

"Someone has to know how to end a Blood Oath," Draco looked frustrated.

Harry had a sudden thought, "Can I use your Floo? I need to make a call."

"Sure. Powder is on the mantle." Draco frowned at the parchment, deep in thought.

Harry hurried downstairs and found a small pot of Floo powder on the fireplace in the grand front room. He tossed a handful into the flames and waited for them to glow emerald green.

"Hermione Granger," he said clearly and stuck his head into the verdant blaze.

The world whirled around him in a blaze of dazzling color and coalesced into a view of a small, neat flat. He looked up from the hearth and tried to determine whether anyone was home. "Hermione!" He called. "Are you here? It's Harry!"

He hated making fire-calls. It made him dizzy and crouching on the stone hearth with his neck extended was never comfortable. Fortunately he didn't have to wait long. He heard the click of heels and Hermione ran into the room.

"Harry!" She crouched by the fire. "How are you? Are you okay? Do we need to come and get you? Is it awful? He hasn't hurt you, has he?"

"No, I'm fine, I promise," Harry tried to quiet her concern so he could cut to the chase. "I need to know if you’ve found any way to end the Blood Oath."

"No, Harry, that's why they're so dangerous," Hermione sat back on her heels. She was dressed nicely in a flowing dress with her hair done up. She looked like she was getting ready for a night out. Harry's heart panged enviously and he wished he was going out with his friends, too.

"What if both parties want to end it. Is there a way to cancel it then?" he asked.

"I don't know," she shook her head. "Malfoy really wants to cancel it?"

"Yes," Harry was hesitant to explain fully when he was only a head-length into the room. It seemed like full-body news.

"I could do some research, I suppose," she looked up at the mantle, and Harry suspected she was checking the time. "Look, I have to run, I'm meeting Ron and Ginny downtown. Would Malfoy let you go out with us one evening? Or are you stuck there?"

"I'm not stuck, we've been out several times," he stopped short, wondering if he would need to explain that, too. "What about next Saturday evening? Could you and Ron meet me at the Leaky Cauldron?"

"Sure, let me check with Ron but I think we're free," she smiled with delight. "I can't wait to see you!"

They agreed on a time and said goodbye. Harry withdrew his head and rubbed his neck thoughtfully. Draco's reaction to his plans for next Saturday would show whether or not he was sincere in his willingness to yield control.

He stood and looked out of the tall windows to the front garden. Draco was outside, tying a small note to the leg of an eagle owl. Harry walked out to the front step and watched quietly while Draco cooed affectionately at the bird before releasing it. He turned and blushed deeply and scowled when he realized he'd been seen.

"What was that?" Harry asked.

"Sent an offer of financial support to St Mungo's," Draco mounted the steps and returned to the cooler interior of the house. "If I want progress I can't wait for them to come to me."

Harry followed him into the parlor and flopped down on a sofa. "I called Hermione."

"Was she any help?" Draco's expression was carefully neutral.

"She was on her way out. But she said she'd look into it and we agreed to meet at the Leaky Cauldron next Saturday evening to talk about it." Harry tried to sound casual but his stomach was tense. Draco's reaction would say everything.

Draco leaned against the fireplace mantle and thought. Harry held his tongue, hoping against all hope that he would respond favorably. Because if he didn't--

"I need to go to Gringotts," Draco said. "If we went in the afternoon I could do that beforehand," he averted his eyes. "Or if you wanted to go on your own I could just do it another day and you could go whenever you want next Saturday."

"I thought you would come," Harry's heart pounded with relief. "But only if you want to."

"Drinks with Granger and Weasley? How could I say no?" his words were distasteful but his posture was relieved.

"You would really have let me go?" Harry needed a definitive statement.

"Of course."

"Even without the Blood Oath?"

"Yes, well," Draco scratched his nose and cleared his throat. "I'm not much interested in telling you what to do anymore. It's gotten rather boring," he said with an arrogant air Harry didn't quite believe.

"That's not how you felt last night," Harry grinned. Draco blushed again.

"Pardon, Master Malfoy," a reedy voice came from the entryway. Harry whirled around. Had Iris overheard his comment?

"What is it?" Draco was instantly cold.

"Sir, Master Lucius is not in his room."

“Since when?” Draco demanded. "Where is he?"

"He has not been seen since breakfast, sir," Iris said calmly.

"So you don't know where he is," Draco frowned disapprovingly. "Is anyone looking for him?"

Iris did not blanch under his glare, but she said nothing.

"Find my father," Draco commanded. "Everyone in this house, right now. Find him."

Harry stood and followed Iris out.

"Where are you going?" Draco called.

"To find your father," Harry paused but a sharp pain in his feet moved him forward again. "Bollocks! You ordered it, you git, I have to obey."

"Not you!" Draco called in exasperation. "Get back here, Potter!"

Harry turned around and returned to the parlor. He scowled at Draco, "This isn't going to work."

Draco burst out laughing.

"It's not funny!" Harry shouted. "Now I can't leave unless you tell me to go!"

Draco doubled over and laughed until he was out of breath. "I'm sorry!" he gasped. "It's not funny!"

"No it's not funny," Harry glowered and waited for the other boy to compose himself.

"I know, it's not funny," Draco tried to regain control. "But it kind of is."

"No it's not, not even a little bit," Harry pouted.

"Harry," Draco reached out apologetically and touched his shoulder. "We'll figure something out."

Harry looked up in surprise, "I think that's the first time you've ever said my name without putting 'bloody Potter' right after it."

"Strange, isn't it?" Draco smiled wonderingly.

"Say it again," Harry said, taking a step forward.

"Harry," Draco said gently.

Harry slipped his arms around Draco's waist and butted foreheads with him. "I rather like the sound of it," he said.

"Master Malfoy," a voice came from the entryway again.

"Buggery hell, Iris! What?" Draco released Harry and turned on the housekeeper with ire.

"Master Lucius has been found," she said, unshaken by his response. She eyed Harry knowingly.

"Where was he?"

“He was in the observatory. He has been returned to his room.”

“You have an observatory?” Harry asked.

“Is the door secured this time?” Draco sighed wearily.

“Yes, sir.”

“See that it stays that way. You’re dismissed,” he waved her away with an air of annoyance.

“You need a proper caretaker,” Harry reminded him.

“I need him out of this house,” Draco corrected him.

“Well let’s see what St Mungo’s wants in exchange,” Harry squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. “And hopefully whatever Gringotts has to say will fit their request.”

“Here’s hoping,” Draco said miserably.


	14. Chapter 14

Harry was excited for evening to arrive. He would be meeting his friends for the first time in a month and a half. He awoke early and laid quietly, watching the enchanted sky that overlaid the ceiling. He rolled his head to the side and saw Draco's sleeping blond head on the next pillow, his expression blissful and his lips parted just slightly. Harry's heart squeezed and he resisted the urge to wake the other boy, just to see his gray eyes open.

He was, for lack of a better word, happy. Inexplicably happy. He was learning that over the previous eight years he had only ever scratched the surface of who Draco Malfoy was. The Blood Oath had been a terrible idea, but he was secretly grateful for the chance it had given him to see what lay beneath the surface. Harry hated to admit it to himself, but he was falling for someone he used to regard as a total irredeemable wanker.

Then again, it was easy to fall here in the Manor out in the countryside. It wasn’t his real life, he reminded himself. This was a detour. At some point the detour would end and he would have to resume his life as planned. And then what would happen? Harry had adapted to the Malfoy world. Could Draco adapt to the Potter world?

As excited as he was to meet his friends for drinks later, he was equally nervous that Draco would be unable to rise above his history and he would hide behind the familiar shelter of cruel insults. Harry wasn't foolish enough to think he knew the true Draco and that the one from school was a lie. It was all truth. He was complex, a conflicted young man who grappled intensely with who he wanted to be. Harry could identify with the painful transition of setting aside the selfishness and antisocial tendencies of adolescence. Draco’s awakening was overdue, but it was an awakening nonetheless. Still, Harry couldn’t make excuses for him. If he was to be a part of Harry’s life, he had to choose to be the man that he had shown he could be. If the old Draco showed up at the pub, would Harry still want to be with him?

Draco's eyelashes fluttered, and without yawning, stretching or squirming he was awake. He turned his head and saw Harry looking at him. He was unguarded, his defenses down, vulnerable and accessible. Harry smiled. This was the Draco he wanted.

“Are you watching me sleep, you perve?” he smiled back sleepily.

“Sort of,” Harry rolled over and slipped his arm across his chest.

“It’s early, isn’t it?” Draco made a halfhearted effort to find his pocketwatch on the side table.

“I guess so,” Harry scooted closer so he could rest his head on Draco’s shoulder. Draco looked down at him with naked adoration. Harry’s heart squeezed again.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I don’t know,” Harry ducked his head. He ran his fingers across the curves of Draco’s muscles.

“Are you getting sappy on me?” Draco tipped Harry’s chin up with the crook of his finger.

“Maybe, a little.”

“Well,” Draco finally yawned. “I guess that’s okay.”

He rolled over and wrapped Harry in his arms and kissed him. Harry held him close and ran his hands down the lines of Draco’s back. They moved sensually together, their bodies still waking up. They made love slowly, quietly, without the hurried desperation of their first shags. Harry looked up into Draco’s eyes and permitted him to enter him for the first time, inhaling sharply at the unfamiliar penetration. He shuddered as the overwhelming fullness sent shockwaves of pleasure to every part of his body. Draco shushed him and kissed his lips comfortingly, then started to move just a bit, so as not to hurt him. His touch was tender, caring and yielding. He watched Harry closely, letting him guide his movements and taking great care not to rush or insist.

Harry pushed back and they moved together in unison, breath hot on each other’s skin. Draco pushed Harry’s hair back from his forehead and descended for another deep kiss as they pushed a little faster, moved a little more, and climbed towards climax. Harry pressed Draco’s hand around his member and pulled as they pushed, and a rising heat spread through his lower abdomen. They groaned and gasped for breath as they neared release, now grinding together purposefully and crying out as the swell swept over them and shook them in its wake.

Their thrusting slowed, and they kissed long and deep as their muscles contracted and relaxed. Draco slipped free and laid beside Harry, out of breath and sated. Harry rolled into his arms again and tucked his head beneath Draco’s chin, inhaling the scent of the other boy as though he could crystallize it in his memory forever.

“I love--” Draco caught himself and cleared his throat.

“What?” Harry looked up in surprise. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” Draco plucked at the sheets, suddenly interested in straightening the bedding.

“What were you going to say?” Harry insisted.

“I was going to ask you if you were planning on showering first,” Draco arched an eyebrow coolly and released him from his grasp.

“No, you can go first,” Harry smirked at him knowingly.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Draco scowled as he slid out of bed and padded to the bathroom. “I didn’t say anything.”

But Harry had heard him. He knew what he had said. And he was glad Draco had said it first.


	15. Chapter 15

Harry returned to the servant quarters in the afternoon to change clothes and get ready for his evening out with friends. Draco had hinted that he should move his trunk up to the main house but Harry had deflected the idea and stalled. He supposed he was waiting to see how their outing would go before committing to such a step.

The evening would be warm, so he dressed in short sleeves and a pair of light cotton trousers. The Leaky Cauldron wasn’t known for its upscale dress code, but he wanted to look neat for the trip. They were planning on leaving with enough time for Draco to conduct his business at Gringotts, but without arriving so early that they would end up waiting around for Hermione and Ron to show up.

He headed up to the house and intercepted Draco on the stairs. The blond boy was dressed in a crisp businesslike button-down with cufflinks and neatly pressed trousers.

“A bit much for the Cauldron, eh?” Harry asked.

“I’m meeting with my financial affairs manager, Potter,” Draco checked his cufflinks to make sure they were secure. “I need to look like I actually have financial affairs to manage.”

“You look smashing,” Harry pressed Draco against the wall and ran his hand down his side.

“I appreciate your enthusiasm,” Draco gently pushed him back and smoothed the fabric of his shirt. “But I need to stay tidy.” He gave Harry an apologetic half-smile to take the bite out of the rejection. “Are you ready to go?”

They headed down to the parlor and cast a handful of Floo powder into the fireplace. They each announced their destination in a loud, clear voice and stepped through. And with a whirl of color and speed they stepped out into Diagon Alley.

Harry was immediately swept up in the joy of comforting familiarity. The street was a bustle of activity, amassed with witches and wizards going about their business or simply enjoying a day at the shops. Harry couldn’t help but grin boyishly as the sounds of shopkeepers hawking their wares washed over him, and the sight of the myriad of magical goods for sale warmed his heart.

“Shall we?” Draco tipped his head slightly, his eyes nervously searching Harrys.

“Are you going to be okay?” Harry asked quietly. They hadn’t discussed whether they would be open about the nature of their friendship, much less how they would explain their friendship to anyone they knew. Harry suddenly felt dreadfully unprepared.

“I’ll be fine if you’re fine,” Draco said.

“We’ll just be ourselves,” Harry said with false confidence. “If anyone wonders why we’re here together we’ll just tell them we’re friends and leave it at that.”

“Okay,” Draco squared his shoulders and composed his expression.

They set off down the narrow street, ducking beneath shop awnings and stepping around merchant carts. Here a pile of cauldrons cluttered the walkway. There a cluster of shiny, new owl cages hung on display. A cluster of children pressed up against the window at Quality Quidditch Supplies, oohing and aahing over the latest broom models. Harry couldn’t help but stop and gaze in over their heads.

“Do you want one?” Draco said teasingly. “Your old one failed you rather spectacularly, if I remember correctly.” He laughed and jumped away as Harry tried to jab him in the side.

They continued on their way, past stalls of sweets vendors and tables lined with charmed gewgaws. A family of five darted out of a shopfront, stopping them short as their mother hollered after them to stop running. Harry looked up and realized they were in front of Madam Malkin’s robe shop. He peered in, thinking about his first robe.

“This is where we met, you know,” he said to Draco.

“No it’s not, we met on the train,” Draco corrected him.

“You don’t remember me,” Harry smiled tolerantly. “But I remember you.”

“Hm,” Draco gazed past him into the dim shop. “I don’t suppose I made a good impression.”

“Not terribly.”

“It doesn’t bother you?” he asked, his tone wistful and curious.

“What, some nonsense from when we were eleven?” Harry laughed.

“There has been worse nonsense far more recently than that,” Draco said dryly.

“I know,” Harry touched his arm and squeezed it reassuringly. “But the past is past. Better to live in the present.”

“Harry!”

They both turned at the sound of a familiar voice. Neville Longbottom was running up the walk towards them, his face beaming. He hauled up clumsily as he reached them and thrust his hand out to shake. Harry accepted warmly and turned to include Draco. The Slytherin boy was averting his gaze, staring pointedly down the road towards Gringotts.

“Draco,” Harry tried to draw his attention. “You remember Neville.”

“Of course I do,” Draco turned back reluctantly and held out his hand. He looked a bit green.

Neville shook his hand awkwardly and ducked his head to speak quietly. “Are you still under the, you know what?” he asked.

“The Blood Oath?” Harry clarified. “Yes, but it’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?” Neville’s eyes bugged out. He looked at Draco as though facing his worst nightmare.

“It turns out I’m a pretty good roommate, Longbottom,” Draco said sharply.

“It’s been good, actually,” Harry added, nervously scratching his nose.

Neville stared at him like he had sprouted flowers from his ears. He stammered and shuffled his feet and seemed genuinely confused.

“What are you doing here today?” Harry delicately changed the subject.

“I lost my wand,” Neville looked embarrassed. “I’m heading to Ollivanders for a new one.”

“How’d you manage that?” Harry asked. Draco stood silently beside him, his expression politely neutral.

“If I knew, I might be able to find it,” Neville shrugged.

“Well it was nice running into you,” Harry said. “Keep in touch.”

“You’re moving into the flat with Ron in the fall, right?” Neville grinned eagerly. “We’ll get together then.”

“Good plan,” Harry grinned in return. They bade each other farewell, Draco uttered a polite goodbye, and Neville hustled along on his business. Harry and Draco exchanged a long look.

“Get it out of your system,” Harry said.

“He lost his wand,” Draco said despairingly. “How exactly does one go about doing that? I’ll tell you, it takes a skill that only Longbottom possesses.” He took a breath. “Sorry.”

“Quite finished?” Harry smirked.

“That was hard,” Draco complained.

“You were brilliant,” Harry touched his hair briefly before remembering himself and quickly lowering his hand.

He was relieved, to say the least. Draco had sincerely made an effort not to be mean. The fact that he was willing to be polite to Neville, of all people, said a lot. He was growing. Harry wished he felt comfortable enough to hug him there on the street.

"I should be going," Draco cocked his head in the direction of Gringotts.

"We're meeting at the Cauldron in about an hour," Harry said. "Is that enough time?"

"Should be," Draco nodded. "I might be a few minutes late but I'll find you." He paused and checked around to make sure no one was within listening distance, although they knew Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy speaking intimately outside of Madam Malkin's had not gone unnoticed by the general public. It would be gossip tomorrow. "Do Granger and Weasley know?" Draco asked.

“Know what?"

"That you're as queer as a three Galleon coin," Draco said bluntly.

"They know," Harry assured him. "They've known since fourth year."

"That long?" Draco seemed impressed. "How did I never know?"

"I could say the same about you," Harry said. "Get going. I'll see you in a bit."

Draco set off towards the bank, and Harry watched him as he made his way through the crowd. He didn't blend in, his white blond hair and effortless regal bearing set him apart no matter how busy the shop fronts were. People stepped aside as he passed, some with unconscious deference, some with naked hostility. One thing was certain, he passed no one unnoticed. Harry knew the feeling.

He looked around and wondered how he should pass the time. He stopped at Eeylops Owl Emporium and had a nostalgic look around. The soft susurration of wings and the coos of many owls filled him with a longing he hadn’t felt in some time. A large cage that housed four young snowy owlets caught his eye and an aching empty sorrow filled his chest. He wondered if he would ever feel inclined to adopt another owl, or whether he would always mourn the loss of Hedwig.

He exited and took a pass through Gambol and Japes, wondering how Draco would react to the various prankster supplies that could be purchased there. He decided not to press his luck. He walked until he came to Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes and ducked inside for a quick hello. The shop was overwhelmed with young shoppers, all scrambling for attention at the counter. George Weasley was busy attending to customers, but his eyes lit up when he caught sight of Harry’s entrance. He was flanked on either side with employees, who stepped in to fill the gap as he excused himself.

“Harry!” he called joyfully as he slipped out from behind the counter. He pumped Harry’s hand enthusiastically and led him into the much quieter stockroom so they could catch up.

“I don’t want to take up your time,” Harry pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. “I can’t believe how busy you are.”

“We’re doing well,” George said proudly. “But I can spare a few minutes. How are you doing? Are you okay? Are they treating you badly?” he looked concerned. Of course he knew about the Blood Oath.

“I’m fine, everything is good,” Harry reassured him.

“Good? Did they let you go?”

“No, I’m still staying out at the Manor,” Harry smiled ruefully. “But it’s actually been sort of fun. It’s not at all like I expected.”

“I find that hard to believe,” George frowned and crossed his arms across his chest. “Have you been compelled not to tell the truth?”

“No, I promise,” Harry said. “Draco’s parents aren’t there, really. And Draco has changed a lot since the war.”

“Haven’t we all?” George said wistfully.

“He’s actually sort of a friend,” Harry said nervously, realizing he was saying it out loud to someone for the first time.

“More than a friend?” George raised an eyebrow disapprovingly.

“Maybe,” Harry blushed. He hadn’t meant for George to be the first to know, but his acute sense of intuition had drawn its own conclusion. Ron and Hermione would find out soon enough anyway, he told himself.

“I don’t know about this, Harry,” George didn’t look happy.

“You’ll have to trust me,” Harry said. “The last year has been life-changing for all of us. Especially Draco.”

“I trust you, Harry,” George clasped his shoulder. “I don’t trust the Malfoys.”

“I know,” Harry dropped his gaze and wondered if every conversation would be this hard. He couldn’t prove Draco’s value for him. Draco would have to do the work himself. And in the meantime Harry would have to justify his choice to everyone.

"Harry!" The stockroom door flew open and a curly brown blur crashed into him, nearly knocking him over.

"Hermione! I can't breathe!" he gasped as she hugged him ferociously.

"We came in early to see my brother and they told us you were here," Ron said from the doorway. He swept in for a handshake over Hermione’s shoulder.

“Having a bit of a reunion?” George asked.

“Ginny will be along later, and Luna might come, too,” Hermione said breathlessly.

“Have you told Ginny and Luna, too?” George asked.

“Told them what?” Ron asked.

“About Harry and Malfoy,” George said in a scandalous voice, then immediately realized he had spoken out of turn. “Oh no, you haven’t told Ron and Hermione yet, have you?” he winced apologetically.

“What is he talking about?” Hermione’s eyes were wide. “He doesn’t mean-- Oh Harry, not Draco Malfoy!”

“You’re not serious!” Ron was outraged.

“Can we not do this here?” Harry grimaced and tried to wave them to the door.

“You’re not that hard up,” Hermione said in her bossiest voice. “In fact I met a boy at my summer job who I’m certain you would like.”

“It’s just a summer fling, right?” Ron asked. “I mean, wow, who knew Malfoy was gay?”

“It’s not a summer fling,” Harry sighed. “Can we just go?”

His two best friends grudgingly agreed to be herded out of the stockroom and through the throngs of customers to the sidewalk. They waved farewell to George and made their way silently down to the Leaky Cauldron. Harry just wanted one drink in his system before he had to talk about this, just a little something to take the edge off.

They filed into the pub and found a large table in the corner with a few extra seats for latecomers. Harry didn’t relish having to explain himself more than once, but Ron and Hermione wouldn’t wait for Ginny and Luna’s arrival to get answers. They each ordered a drink, Butterbeers for his two friends, and a stiffer lager for Harry. His friends were kind enough to give him one pull from his glass before pouncing on him again.

“All right, out with it,” Ron demanded. “What happened?”

“The thing is,” Harry spun his glass slowly with his fingertips. “It hasn’t been bad at all. The first day or so was hard, just getting adjusted, but Draco is actually quite different now from the person we went to school with.”

“People don’t change overnight,” Hermione insisted.

“No they don’t,” Harry agreed. “But he didn’t change overnight. We hardly spoke all year, remember. He’s been dealing with a lot since the war and it’s had an impact on him.”

“So he feels guilty about what his family did and now he’s a nice guy?” Ron asked dubiously.

“Nothing that shallow,” Harry sighed. “I can’t explain it, you’ll just have to see when he gets here.”

“He’s coming?” Ron squeaked.

“Yes, I asked him to,” Harry said firmly. “He’s my friend, and I want you to get to know him from scratch.”

“I don’t know if that’s possible,” Hermione said softly. “Look, I know his family used him. I know you-know-who used him, too. I’m sorry that happened to him. But he was a prat long before any of that.”

“Ages ago,” Harry said. “I can’t live in the past. Too much has happened, the war changed everything. I know is who he is now, and I know he’s someone I’ve really gotten to like. He’s maddening, absolutely stubborn and demanding. But he’s also funny, and fun, and there’s a kindness in him that he’s scared to let the world see.” He hunched over his pint and shook his head hopelessly, “I can’t explain it, you just have to give him a chance.”

“I don’t know,” Hermione looked to Ron for support.

Just then the door to Diagon Alley swung open and a lean, blond figure stood silhouetted against the sun. The late afternoon light glowed through his white blond hair and his posture spoke volumes about his posh upbringing. He squinted into the dark pub and spotted Harry and his friends in the corner. His expression was grim, not exactly the sort of look that supported Harry’s claims about him. But he entered and stopped at the bar for a lager, then crossed the room to sit by Harry and have drinks with his friends.

“Afternoon, Weasley, Granger,” Draco nodded. He looked at Harry. His eyes were searching and anxious but he wore a mask of detached coolness.

“How did it go at Gringotts?” Harry asked. He laid his arm along the back of Draco’s chair. It was a definitive gesture to let him know that the news had been shared. Ron and Hermione exchanged a look.

“As well as I expected,” Draco shrugged.

“Draco is offering a donation to St Mungos to help their underfunded mental health department,” Harry said proudly.

“Turns out there’s an adjacent building they could expand into if they wanted to build a new ward,” Draco explained, “I’m going to offer to fund the acquisition of the lease. They’ll have to fundraise for the renovation, though.”

“That’s very generous,” Hermione said dubiously.

“It’s nothing,” Draco had a hard time meeting her gaze and instead checked over his shoulder for the barkeeper. “Does this place serve any food? I’m famished.”

“I think they have the basics,” Harry said. “Fish and chips, that sort of thing.”

“Is anyone else eating? It’s on me,” Draco turned back to Ron and Hermione and raised his eyebrows inquisitively.

“You don’t have to pay,” Ron said sharply. “We have money.”

“He’s just being nice,” Harry said.

“So tell us about just being nice,” Ron sat forward with his bottle cradled between his hands and a dubious tone. “Harry said you’re actually a nice, funny guy. Does that mean you haven’t taken advantage of the Blood Oath?”

“Well no,” Draco smirked. “I took advantage of it quite a bit at first,” he smiled at Harry, who rolled his eyes tolerantly. “But I guess being friends is better than forcing him to pour my tea.”

“Plus I did a terrible job at it,” Harry added.

“Don’t ever tell him to add the sugar,” Draco grimaced with mock dismay. “And he can’t fold a crepe to save his life.”

Ron and Hermione stared at them with a mixture of horror and disbelief.

“We would both like to end the Blood Oath,” Harry said. “He tries not to give me orders, but it’s fickle and if he accidentally tells me to do something instead of asking, I can’t resist obeying without pain.”

“Accidentally order you to do something?” Ron shook his head in confusion.

“Like, Harry, go get me that bowl of peanuts, instead of asking him to do it,” Draco said. Harry stood and walked to the bar and brought back the bowl of peanuts in question. “Sorry,” Draco said ruefully.

“See?” Harry grimaced as he sat down. “He’s gotten good at saying it the right way, but it doesn’t take much to make the Oath kick in.”

“Did you just apologize?” Hermione was dumbfounded.

“It’s strange, isn’t it?” Draco nodded sympathetically.

“I just don’t understand,” she frowned. “How do you go from enemies to, well--” she paused.

“What?” Harry asked.

“I was going to say lovers but I don’t want to presume,” she said.

“No, that’s about right,” Draco smiled devilishly when Ron cringed.

“How do we know you haven’t ordered Harry to be with you, or to lie about it?” Ron demanded.

“The Blood Oath doesn’t seem to have any power over what goes on in the bedroom,” Harry said delicately.

“He’s a servant, not a concubine,” Draco added inelegantly.

“I think I said it better,” Harry said.

“But how can we believe you?” Ron asked. “You’re my best mate, Harry. I just need to know that you’re really okay.”

“Harry, tell them the nature of our relationship,” Draco ordered.

“Draco and I are lovers, or partners, or I don’t know what you would call it Draco, this is all I can come up with,” Harry said compulsively in response to the command. “He’s still an insufferable prat sometimes, but he’s become a true friend. He shows me kindness and caring and consideration, and he’s extremely generous in bed,” he flushed and clapped his hand over his mouth. “And I love him,” he garbled around the palm of his hand.

“Whoops, too far,” Draco grinned at him affectionately. He hadn’t missed the muffled addendum. He reached over and ruffled Harry’s hair. Harry glared daggers at him.

Ron and Hermione were stunned. They stared at Harry, then Draco, then Harry again.

“Honestly, I need to get something to eat or I’ll waste away,” Draco checked over his shoulder. “Is there no one waiting tables?”

“Come on,” Harry jumped up went to the bar. They ordered an assortment of small items that could be shared at the table. As they waited for their total to be tallied Draco reached over and stroked his thumb across the small of Harry’s back.

“So what was that you said back there?” he asked teasingly.

“That’s not fair,” Harry said, defensively. “You can’t make me say something like that.”

“I didn’t make you say that,” Draco slid his hand all the way around his waist and drew him in closer. “But I’m glad you did. Now I don’t have to be first.”

“You sort of already were first,” Harry reminded him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Draco sniffed haughtily.

They paid for their order and Draco told the barkeeper to open a tab for drinks. Harry knew Ron would bridle at the presumption, but Draco wanted to make the gesture. They returned to the table and Harry knew instantly that his friends had witnessed the intimate exchange between them at the bar. They were conflicted. On the one hand they had seen Harry struggle to connect with the few boys at Hogwarts who were willing to make their sexuality known. He’d had a few hook-ups here and there, but nothing satisfying, nothing that could be called a relationship. He knew they wanted him to find someone who could make him happy in the long-term. But he also knew that accepting Draco Malfoy as that person was a lot to ask.

So they did what any rational people would do in that situation, they drank. Ginny and Luna showed up after they were several beers in the tank, and they got the tipsy version of the Harry-Draco story. As the evening wore on and more alcohol was consumed Draco’s defenses came down and he laughed and joked with Ron as though they had been chums for years. Ron was still somewhat reluctant to totally trust him, but he was trying. It was the best Harry could hope for.

“So Harry, what can you tell us about Malfy-poo that we didn’t know before?” Ron slurred a little bit.

“Don’t you dare,” Draco put his hand over Harry’s mouth. They grappled for a moment and Draco pulled Harry into a one-armed embrace. Harry leaned on him affectionately and grinned at his friends.

“He hums in his sleep,” Harry giggled drunkenly.

“I do not!” Draco protested. “Do I really?”

“A little bit,” Harry laughed.

“What does he hum? Nursery rhymes?” Ginny tittered.

“Just a few notes here and there,” Harry looked up at Draco, who seemed legitimately surprised by this information. “He does it mostly when he’s really tired.”

“It’s your fault for tiring me out,” Draco tweaked his chin. Their drinking companions uttered a strange mix of adorable coo and uncomfortable groan.

"Harry," Hermione suddenly sat up straight. "I meant to ask your earlier before we got distracted. Did you guys find out anything about ending the Blood Oath?"

"No," Harry felt silly, realizing that other than calling Hermione he hadn't really tried. He’d sort of expected her to solve the mystery for him. "I was hoping you would learn something."

"No," she shook her head. "Once it's fulfilled it should simply crumble to ash. But until then I don't think there's any way to destroy it."

"That’s what I’d feared," Harry reached across the table and squeezed her hand. "Thanks for checking anyway."

"It's not so bad, is it?" Draco asked. "I mean we've gotten around it pretty well."

"True," Harry said. "But knowing my free will can be taken from me at any moment doesn't feel terribly good."

"I know," Draco said guiltily. "I'm trying the best I can." In his inebriation he seemed to have forgotten the presence of the others at the table. His eyes were pleading, apologetic and sincere.

Ron cleared his throat awkwardly and checked around the table, "one last round, anyone?"

"I think you've had quite enough," Hermione pulled his arm down to prevent him from ordering again.

They decided it was time to call it a night. Draco settled the tab and they all trooped out into the warm summer night air. Diagon Alley was still and mostly empty, with closed up shops and shuttered stalls giving a blank face to the road. They huddled and staggered together, Harry with one arm draped heavily around Draco’s neck and the other around Ginny’s. Luna danced dreamily in the moonlight up ahead, seemingly unaffected by the alcohol. Hermione’s arm was tucked affectionately through Ron’s as they stumbled to the public hearth.

They all hugged in and bid each other farewell. Draco stood aside and made no presumption of participation, although Luna did break from the pack and offer him the tiniest embrace and a quick kiss on the cheek.

“Be on your best behavior,” Ron said firmly, holding his hand out aggressively for a shake. “If you take advantage of him, you’ll have to answer to me and my brothers.”

“No worries there,” Draco returned the handshake. “I’ve no interest in dueling with a gaggle of Weasleys.”

Hermione tapped Draco on the elbow and asked if she could speak with him privately. They strolled a short distance down the sidewalk and she spoke to him quietly, he nodded, and they came back. Harry looked inquisitively at them but Draco acted as though nothing had happened.

Having said all of the goodbyes they could possibly say, they each departed for home. First Ginny, then Hermione, then Luna, then Ron. And then Draco and Harry were alone.

“You’re not too pissed for the Floo, are you?” Draco asked. He had removed and pocketed his cufflinks at some point and his shirt sleeve cuffs were loose and flapping.

“I’m fine. Malfoy Manor, Malfoy Manor,” Harry said clearly to prove his abilities.

“You don’t mind coming back to the house?” Draco said softly.

“Of course not.”

“Even after being out with your friends?”

“I’m going home with my boyfriend,” Harry laughed, still a bit tipsy.

“Am I your boyfriend now?” Draco asked, backing him up against the brick wall between shop fronts. They snogged for a bit, their tongues and hands and hips sloppily engaged.

“You’re my boyfriend,” Harry said firmly when they parted.

“Are you asking me or telling me?” Draco’s eyes twinkled beneath heavy lids.

“I’m telling you,” Harry smiled. “And you have to obey.”

“Okay,” Draco agreed. “I’m your boyfriend.”

“I’ve always wanted one of those,” Harry laughed in a silly way.

“You’re a lucky man,” Draco teased.


	16. Chapter 16

They slept late into the morning, and awoke mutually hungover. Harry did his best not to grouch at Draco, and Draco struggled not to order Harry around. They snipped at each other until the breakfast cart arrived, then gratefully dug into their fried eggs and beans. Harry helped himself to the coffee, and poured Draco a cup just so he wouldn’t be tempted to demand it. By the time he got to the bacon he was starting to feel a little more human.

“Better?” he asked Draco.

“A bit,” Draco grumped.

“I remember now why I don’t do that much,” Harry said over the rim of his coffee cup.

“Hm,” Draco didn’t look up from his plate. His hair hung down in greasy strands and he had bags under his eyes. The corners of his mouth were drawn down in a grimace, as though he thought he might be sick.

After their meal they each took a shower, which did wonders for their symptoms. Draco was still grumpy as he got dressed, but he looked quite a bit better. Harry didn’t take it personally, but he wisely kept his distance and didn’t push the other boy to speak.

They agreed that some fresh air would probably help, so they headed down the grand staircase to the front garden. Harry noticed with satisfaction that the drapes were open in every room. As they crossed the foyer Iris called from the parlor, where she was casting a cleaning spell over the rarely used furnishings.

“Master Malfoy,” she approached and stood in the entryway. “Your mother is here.”

“That’s all I need,” Draco rubbed his temples. “When did she arrive?”

“Early this morning. We sent Sugar to wake you but he was unable to,” Iris’ eyes flicked to Harry and she gave him a knowing look. He quailed, wondering why she always looked at him with those penetrating glances.

“Where is she now?”

“Madam Malfoy comes and goes as she pleases,” Iris reminded him.

“She’s was in the back garden a moment ago,” one of the maids piped up from behind them. Harry jumped, startled, and grasped his aching head in his hands.

“Sir.” Iris stepped forward and withdrew her wand. “I don’t mean to presume, but if I may?” Draco eyed her warily but nodded. She flicked and swished, then repeated the spell at Harry. Instantly his headache was lifted. His eyes felt brighter, his stomach was settled, even his sinuses were clearer. He gasped at the sudden, overwhelming sense of wellness.

“That’s brilliant!” Harry exclaimed. “Thank you, Iris.”

“Yes, thank you, Iris,” Draco said with a bit of a struggle. His eyes were wide as he reeled from the sudden lack of hangover symptoms, but thanking the staff was something he was still unaccustomed to.

“Sir, your mother is here,” the other maid skittered through the foyer and bobbed her head respectfully.

“We just told him that, Daphne,” Iris said scoldingly.

“Sorry, ma’am,” the girl stammered. “It’s just that she’s down by the fountain. And she’s not been well. And, well, I worry about her being near the water,” her voice petered out and she ducked her head.

"We'd better check on her," Draco muttered. They made their way out onto the back lawn. Sure enough they saw the long blond hair of Narcissa Malfoy drifting in the wind at the fountain that lay before the orchard trellis.

"Why doesn’t she call ahead to let you know she’s coming?" Harry asked.

"She comes and goes as she pleases,” Draco mimicked Iris’ reedy emotionless tone. “She wouldn’t remember even if I asked her to call ahead.” He sighed deeply, “She may behave like a normal person from time to time, but never forget that she is, in her own way, as mad as my father.”

Narcissa looked up as they drew near. She was radiant in the midday sunlight, and she smiled serenely at the swirling fish that topped the enchanted fountain. She was holding something that made her smile joyfully as she bobbled it gently from hand to hand. She lifted it to her mouth and kissed it, and spoke to it sweetly.

“Hello Mother,” Draco said as though he didn’t expect to be acknowledged.

“Draco,” Narcissa looked up and gazed past him, as though he were actually standing in a different location. “It’s a lovely day, isn’t it?” She bobbled her hands again.

“What do you have there?” Draco asked sharply.

She extended her hands, and cupped between them was a small, white field mouse. She gazed down at it adoringly and said, “Isn’t he sweet?”

“Where did you get that filthy thing?” Draco shank back in disgust.

“Oh he’s not filthy,” Narcissa said adoringly. “He’s quite lovely and he’s mine. He’s coming back to St Mungos with me.”

“Where did he come from?” Harry asked.

“Here at the house,” she swept her hand towards the mansion. “Have we met? You look familiar.”

“Mother!” Draco interrupted. “Put it down before it bites you.”

“He would never bite me,” she cooed and held the mouse up to her face. She kissed it delicately on the nose as it sniffed her mouth with twitching whiskers. “Would you, Lucius?”

Harry and Draco exchanged a look of concern. “You named it Lucius?” Harry asked carefully.

“His name is Lucius,” she said as though correcting him.

“Mother,” Draco was visibly tense. “Where did you get that mouse?”

“I found him upstairs,” she dropped another tiny kiss in his nose. "Lucius wants to come with me to St Mungo's. He wants to help with the children. They'll be delighted to see him."

"Mother," Draco balled his fists, "Is that Father?"

Narcissa tossed her head back and laughed musically. It was unlike anything Harry had ever seen in her before. And judging by Draco's revulsion, it was eerily unfamiliar to him, too.

"Being human is too hard for him, dear," she said brightly. "It's so much easier this way."

"Did you do this?" Draco shouted. "Or did he do this to himself?"

"It was my gift to him," Narcissa said sweetly and kissed the busy little white mouse again.

"Do you have a wand, Madam Malfoy?" Harry asked. "You know you're not supposed to be doing magic."

"Where did you get a wand?" Draco demanded.

"I found it," Narcissa stood and strolled away from them, meandering lazily towards the house.

"I have mine," Draco checked his sleeve. "Do you have yours?"

"Right here," Harry held his aloft.

"We have to get it away from her," Draco hissed. Narcissa was twirling around with the mouse cupped in her outstretched hands.

"And your father," Harry reminded him.

"That, too."

“If she has a wand she could be dangerous,” Harry said.

“You try to get the mouse, I’ll try to get the wand,” Draco squared his shoulders as though preparing for battle.

“Why do I have to get the mouse? He’s your father,” Harry protested in vain. But Draco had given the order, he would go for the mouse.

“I don’t want to touch it,” Draco shuddered. “Human transfiguration makes me uncomfortable.”

“Flashbacks, ferret face?” Harry smirked.

“Very funny,” Draco snapped. “Maybe you’d like to go back to calling me sir.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “See if you can take her by the arm and check her sleeve.”

“Mother!” Draco called and jogged casually to her side.

Harry approached more slowly and drew up close behind her other elbow. Draco slipped his arm through hers and smiled down at her like a loving son. She beamed up at him happily and switched the mouse to her left hand. Harry knew it would be best to disarm her first but he had to take the chance when he saw it. He snatched the mouse out of Narcissa’s hand and bolted towards the house as fast as he could run.

“Lucius!” Narcissa screeched. Harry glanced over his shoulder and saw her wrench her arm from Draco and withdraw a wand. Thinking fast, he dove over a planter and took cover. A curse blasted the potted decorative grass mere inches above his head. He flattened himself against the paving bricks and checked to make sure he hadn’t squished the mouse that was Draco’s father. He could hear Draco and Narcissa struggling. A howl of rage told him that she’d been successfully disarmed so took a chance and peeked over the top of the planter.

Narcissa was waving her arms desperately as Draco held the wand above his head. With difficulty he managed to get his own wand in hand and enough distance between them to stun her. She fell to the ground in a heap of skirt folds and blond hair.

The sound of pounding feet drew his attention to the house. The entire staff was running towards them, many of them with their own wands extended. The two maids dropped to their knees at Narcissa’s side and checked to make sure she was okay. She moaned and trembled as the stun slowly wore off. Draco had gone easy on her. Harry stood and brought the mouse over to the group. Draco averted his eyes, unwilling to look at the creature.

“Where did my mother get a wand?” Draco demanded. The staff exchanged confused looks. “Hold them up, show them to me.”

Those with wands already extended shrugged. The others reached up their sleeves and withdrew theirs obediently. Harry showed his, unable to resist the command. The only one who didn’t hold up a wand was the maid named Daphne. She gasped in horror and burst into tears.

“I’m so sorry, Master Malfoy!” she wailed. “Madam Malfoy hugged me when she arrived and I didn’t think to check. Please forgive me!”

“Go to your quarters, Daphne,” Iris said sharply. The girl stood and ran sobbing to her room. “Sir,” Iris said calmly. “I take full responsibility for her error.”

Harry watched Draco nervously. The Draco from before the war would have jumped at the opportunity to punish anyone who did him wrong. He couldn’t help tensing up, expecting the familiar snide barbs he had been on the receiving end of himself.

The blond boy dropped his chin to his chest and thought quietly for a moment. He finally looked up and regarded the staff sternly, but without anger. “Iris, please ensure she is appropriately educated about the importance of guarding her wand. Master Lucius and Madam Malfoy cannot be trusted with access to magic. Let this be a lesson for all of us.” He handed the wand over and dismissed them as one. Harry waited until the others were a distance away before squeezing Draco’s shoulder. He was proud of him, but he didn’t want to undermine his authority by showing it while the staff was watching.

Narcissa sat up slowly and shook her head to clear the lingering effects of the stun. She was calmer, confused and speechless, her skirt puddled around her and her hair mussed from the fall. Harry carefully set the mouse in the grass and pointed his wand. “Reparefarge,” he said firmly. The mouse bulged and grew and sprouted hands and a human face, and in an instant became Lucius Malfoy. He was dressed in a disheveled robe and his hair hung across his face.

“Cissy!” he cried and scrambled to her feet.

“Lucius!” she reached for him and cradled his head in her arms.

“Change me back, Narcissa,” he moaned as she rocked and made shushing sounds in his ear. “Keep me with you.”

Harry looked up at Draco. He had turned away and his eyes were squeezed shut as though he couldn’t bear to watch. Harry gently drew him into an embrace. The other boy clutched at him fiercely.

“I can’t take this anymore,” he whispered into Harry’s shoulder.

“Do you think she could take him with her?” Harry asked. “Because maybe that would be best. It’s what they both want.”

“I don’t know,” Draco kept his face buried in Harry’s neck.

“Do you want to try? It would mean transfiguring him back,” Harry asked.

“I can’t do it,” Draco said, finally raising his head. “Can you?”

Harry nodded. He released Draco, who quickly walked away to put distance between himself and what was about to happen. Harry knelt by Lucius and Narcissa and touched their shoulders to get their attention.

“Lucius,” he said gently, hoping it was okay to use his first name. “Do you want to be turned back into a mouse?”

“I need Narcissa,” Lucius nodded vigorously. “Help me, Randolph. Change me back.”

“Narcissa,” Harry had to lightly grasp the dazed woman’s chin to get her to look at him. “Do you want to take Lucius back to St Mungo’s? Do you want to keep him as a mouse?”

“Yes,” she said hopefully. “We’ll be safe. He can’t bring the Dark Lord back as a mouse.” Harry couldn’t fault her logic.

He stood and asked Lucius to step away from his wife. Lucius obeyed and held his arms out in eager anticipation. Harry checked over his shoulder to make sure what he was about to do was okay, but Draco had ducked behind a tree so he wouldn't have to watch. Harry flicked his wand and cast the spell, and then Lucius shrank and was a mouse once again. The mouse ran to Narcissa, who scooped him up and deposited him in her breast pocket. And before anyone could say anything Narcissa fled toward the house.

"It's over," Harry called.

Draco stepped out from behind the branches, his mouth twisted with distress. Harry took his hand and led him away from the house, down the bricked path to the entrance of the orchard. They climbed the hill between the exotic fruit trees and down the other side. Harry followed the rambling streamlet until they came to the clearing with the old ash pit and the broad, flat rock outcropping.

They sat on the stone ledge and said nothing for some time. The sun moved resolutely to the west, elongating the shadows that crept through the forest. Harry looked around and thought about what it must have been like for a small blond boy to flee into the trees in the hopes of escaping his terrifying family. He shook his head, wondering how Draco had kept such a front of bravado at school.

“What?” Draco finally spoke.

“I was just thinking,” Harry mused. “This might be the last time you come out here.”

“Why’s that?”

“There’s nothing to hide from anymore,” Harry explained. “There won’t be any reason to run away again. And no one to send the house elves after you to bring you back.”

As though on cue, Sugar Apparated into the clearing. His sour expression was so ridiculous that it took an effort of will for Harry to keep a straight face. Sugar eyed them both suspiciously. “Sir, Madam Malfoy and Master Lucius have successfully traveled to St Mungo’s,” he grumped. Then, with a perfunctory bow, he Disapparated away.

“Well there you go,” Harry said with relief. “I mean, they’ll figure out who the mouse is soon enough. But that ought to be proof alone that he’s mad enough to need their help.”

“And all I’ll have to do is buy them a new ward,” Draco said ruefully.

When the sun sank low in the sky and the shadows started to merge together the two boys made their way out of the woods. They crossed the lawn to the house and took their supper in the kitchen at the dinette table near the door. Afterward they sat out on the patio and watched the stars come out until they were too exhausted to stay awake any longer. They dragged themselves up the stairs to Draco’s suite and slid the doors shut behind them.

Harry sat on the edge of the bed and sighed.

“What a day,” Draco said, his shoulders sagging.

“Yeah,” Harry didn’t know what to say.

“Do you want to move your stuff up here in the morning?”

“Do you want me to move my stuff up here?”

“I’m trying not to tell you. I’m trying to ask.”

“Then I want to move my stuff up here.”


	17. Chapter 17

St Mungo’s contacted Draco the day after his parents’ departure and confirmed their discovery of Narcissa’s small companion. They also confirmed that for now they would permit Lucius to retain his rodent form until he was comfortable transfiguring back. And an agreement was struck for Draco to provide significant funding to support their acquisition of the lease of the neighboring property in appreciation of their petition to the Ministry for Lucius’ committal. St Mungo’s also agreed that Narcissa’s behavior necessitated closer monitoring and that her ability to come and go at will would be curtailed.

Draco spent long hours hammering out the agreement with his financial advisor and the hospital donor administrator. Harry elected not to participate and excused himself every time Draco took a meeting. He passed the time by wandering the manor as he did during his early days on the property, poking around the various rooms and generally being a little nosier than was probably polite.

He frequently found himself in the library, leafing through the ancient tomes that were shelved there. Some of the titles were intimidatingly dark, and Harry was too nervous to open them, much less read the evil contained within. Others were so old and crumbling that he was scared to do more than shine a Lumos on them. There was one book, however, that he couldn’t help but risk damage.

The title read, “Contracts, Oaths and Vows: A Magical Guide.” He slipped it down from the shelf and cradled it carefully to the heavy wooden desk. The cover was bound in cracked and dusty black leather and the binding looked as though it could split with the slightest movement. Harry used his wand to turn the pages so he wouldn’t have to bend, wrinkle or fold the fragile parchment. The lettering was small and faded, but Harry followed along and paged through until he found what he was looking for: a chapter on Blood Oaths.

The chapter was filled with the kinds of warnings Harry and Draco should have heeded before casually entering their agreement. As he scanned the various ways in which a Blood Oath could go terribly wrong, he was grateful that they’d kept theirs so simple and to the point. It could have been disastrous. He read about the construct of the Blood Oath, the magic that binds the terms to fulfillment, and the various ways in which disobedience can yield punishment. Again, Harry felt lucky that all he experienced was a pain in the leg or back when he tried to resist.

And then he came to the section he was looking for: breaking a Blood Oath. He leaned forward, his nose nearly grazing the page, and he read carefully. He sat back in his chair and looked up at the bookcase.

“They can’t be serious,” he said out loud. He reread the passage again and had to laugh at the absurdity of it. “The power of a Blood Oath is in the blood. To break the power of the contract, one or both signatories must be drained of blood completely to break the connection to the signature. Once the contract is broken, burn the parchment, and return the blood to the signatory or signatories.”

He closed the book and stowed his wand. It certainly made logical sense, he thought, but it was an absolutely daft suggestion. Draining the blood from one’s body would be extraordinarily risky, and would require powerful magic and a skilled hand. He had to laugh, of course there wouldn’t be a neat and easy solution. And given that they were less than two months from the equinox, it certainly didn’t seem like a worthwhile risk. As much as he hated knowing he was obligated to the Oath, the hardship was mostly philosophical. He hadn’t been obligated to fulfill an order in quite some time, certainly nothing he found objectionable. The part about living in residence at Malfoy Manor, well, that was pretty tolerable, too.

“Harry?” Draco poked his head through the library doorway. “There you are. What are you doing?”

“Nothing, just reading,” Harry quickly shoved the tome beneath a stack of books he’d pulled down earlier.

“Anything interesting?”

“Dusty old history books, mostly.”

“Hermione just called through the Floo,” Draco said. “She asked me to tell you happy birthday.”

“That was kind of her,” Harry flicked his wand and sent the books back to the shelves where they belonged.

“Why didn’t you tell me it’s your birthday?” Draco looked hurt.

“Because it’s not important,” Harry shrugged.

“It is so important,” Draco strode across the room and grabbed Harry by the shoulders. “Birthdays are always important. Come on,” he swept Harry from the room and marched him across the great house to the kitchen. Chef and Pater jumped to attention as they entered.

“Chef, would you please make something special for supper to celebrate Master Potter’s birthday?” he asked. "And maybe a cake?"

“Of course, Master Malfoy. And happy birthday to you, uh, Master Potter,” Chef’s eyes flicked back and forth between them. Pater and added his well wishes, too.

“Thank you,” Harry was embarrassed. He didn’t want any fuss. His birthday had never been noteworthy growing up. It had only been truly celebrated a handful of times. He was more familiar with the quiet, unmentioned sort of day than the celebratory kind.

They left the kitchen and headed to the parlor so Harry could call Hermione back. Harry cast a sidelong glance at Draco and smirked.

“What are you looking at me like that for, you git?” Draco asked.

“You asked Chef to make a cake, you didn’t tell him,” Harry pointed out.

“I did?”

“You did,” Harry said. “You even said please.”

“That doesn’t sound like me at all. I must be coming down with something,” Draco laid his hand dramatically across his forehead.

“You also called me Master Potter,” Harry added. “I’m supposed to be your servant.”

“Oh they’ve all figured it out by now,” Draco waved his hand dismissively.

“So they’re to regard me as a master of the house?”

“Why not?” Draco retrieved the jar of Floo powder and held it out for Harry to take a handful.

“I’m not a Malfoy,” Harry pointed out.

“Close enough,” Draco shrugged. But his cheeks were pink, betraying the meaning behind his words.

Harry wondered what they would do, come September 22.


	18. Chapter 18

Draco was taking a lot of fire calls from Hermione, Harry thought. A lot of private calls. He wasn't jealous, he told himself. If Draco and Hermione were becoming friends, that could only be good. It would mean less stress when he wanted to visit with her and Ron. He wasn't jealous, but he did feel a little snubbed.

She called every day or so, and although she always chatted happily with Harry, she inevitably asked him to call Draco down so she could say hi. And then Draco asked for privacy, and then Harry left with that feeling that definitely wasn't jealousy. He sometimes overheard Draco laughing at something she said and he gritted his teeth, wishing he knew what they were talking about. But it wasn't jealousy. Not at all.

"I've invited Hermione to join us for supper tonight," Draco announced out of the blue in the middle of the week.

"Supper is in an hour," Harry checked the clock. "Sort of late notice, isn't it?"

"You don't want her to visit?" Draco's surprise was too much to be believable.

"Of course I want her to visit," Harry said. "But what are you two up to?"

"Nothing," Draco looked insulted. "We've been talking a lot lately, and dare I say becoming friends, if you can believe such an absurd thing. I thought it would be nice to have her over as a guest."

"All right," Harry wasn't appeased but he could see he wasn't going to get any more information out of the other boy.

"Oh, and she's bringing Longbottom," Draco added casually as he slipped out of the room.

"What?" Harry demanded. "Now I know you're up to something."

They descended to the parlor just as the fireplace glowed emerald and Hermione stepped into the room, followed by Neville.

"Draco!" Hermione hugged him warmly and then embraced Harry. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," Harry shook Neville's hand and regarded them coolly. "Where is Ron? What's going on here?"

"What do you mean? Ron had to work tonight," Hermione's eyes were too wide, her tone too innocent. She and Draco stood side by side, both with carefully composed expressions. She clutched a beaded handbag in her fists as though keeping it secure.

"I know that handbag," Harry said firmly. "What are you keeping in there?" He turned to Neville and smiled apologetically, "And I'm sorry, Neville, but am I to believe you just decided to pop over to Malfoy Manor for a meal?"

All three pairs of eyes stared at him innocently.

"Fine. If anyone wants to tell me what's going on, I'll be upstairs," he turned on his heel and marched out of the room.

"Harry, wait!" Draco called.

Harry stopped in his tracks and wheeled his arms for balance. He whipped around and glared angrily at the Slytherin boy. "Don't you dare," he growled. "Let me go this instant."

"Don't be cross, Harry," Hermione said pleadingly.

"You can go if you want to," Draco said softly, releasing the painful tension that had arrested Harry's retreat.

He continued up the stairs and locked himself in their suite to fume about whatever it was they weren't telling him. He heard them come up the stairs a moment later and continue up to the third floor. He caught a snatch of conversation as they passed that concerned him.

"...once Neville has written the paradox we'll need to convince him to sign it." Hermione's voice was muffled through the door.

"If he won’t we could try the other way..." Draco's voice was distant as they rounded the third floor landing, but Harry could detect the unmistakable hesitation in his tone. He didn't know what was happening but he didn't like the sound of it.

They were obviously talking about the Blood Oath. He thought about the book in the library and tried to recall what he'd read. Nothing in the section on breaking the Oath spoke of paradoxes. He thought harder. He needed the book.

He Apparated down to the library and scanned the shelves for the right title. He found it and flipped it open, no longer concerned for the book's structural integrity. He spotted the section that had eluded his memory and realized what his friends were doing.

Not wanting to spare a second he Apparated to the top of the third floor stairs and followed the sound of their voices to the guest parlor at the end of the hall. Neville was seated at a table with a parchment and quill in hand. Hermione was murmuring instructions in his ear while Draco held the Blood Oath for reference.

"Stop doing that!" Harry dashed into the room and tore the parchment from Neville's grip. "Are you daft?" He stared at them in horror. They shifted guiltily and looked to each other for help. "You're writing a second Blood Oath, for Merlin's sake! Have you lost your minds?"

"We just wanted to help," Neville said softly.

"Listen, Harry--" Hermione started.

"No, don't explain," Harry interrupted. "I know what you're thinking. You think a contradictory Oath will cancel the first one out. Am I right?"

"Harry, the logic is solid," Draco tried to sound reasonable.

"Only if you don't know anything about Blood Oaths," Harry slammed the heavy tome down onto the table, scattering a cloud of leathery dust from the ancient binding. He flipped open to the relevant chapter and pointed furiously. "The Oaths won't cancel each other out. They'll fight to be enforced and when we can't fulfill the contradictory commands we will suffer unending pain. What's worse is that the duration would stand, so we wouldn't even die from the pain, we would live in constant agony until autumn." He regarded them angrily. "A month and a half of agony. At the end of which we may very well die."

"Where did you find this book?" Draco looked up, betrayal behind his eyes. "How long have you known about this?"

"You do not get to be angry with me!" Harry shouted. "You're the one sneaking around without asking for my help or telling me what you're doing!"

"I'm trying to free you, Harry!" Draco shouted back.

"By killing us both," Harry looked down at Hermione's bowed head. "We're not children anymore, Hermione. We can't play with this kind of magic and hope it comes out okay."

"I'm just here because I penned the original one and they thought it should match," Neville said miserably.

"I know," Harry said apologetically. "Our school days are behind us. It's long past time to stop dragging you into our messes."

"There's another way," Hermione piped up, as she cast a sidelong glance at Draco. "The Blood Oath should only apply to living participants--"

"Stop," Harry held up his hand commandingly. He glared at Draco, "Do you really think you're prepared to dabble in death and resurrection? Are you suddenly so enamoured of Hermione that you think she can bring back the dead?"

"There's a potion--" Hermione shuffled in her bag and withdrew a vial filled with sickly green fluid.

Harry yanked it out of her hand and glowered at her. "What if you got it wrong? What if you couldn't bring him back?"

"I wouldn't--"

"You can't know for sure that it would go right," Harry said. "And the worst part is, it wouldn't even break the Oath," he said, pounding his hand against the faded book again. "It's the blood, the blood is what matters. The only way to break a Blood Oath is to drain the blood, burn the parchment, and then hope to the heavens above that you can put the blood back and resurrect whomever you killed while extracting it."

"Then that's it," Draco looked up hopefully. "There has to be a way to do that, if that's what works."

“It would kill you,” Harry yelled.

“But you would be free. Isn’t it worth a try?”

Harry couldn't take another minute of it. He struggled to keep his composure but the despair was overwhelming. His vision blurred and he felt tears on his face before he could stop them. "You are not doing that!" he shouted at Draco.

"Harry," Draco reeled back, cowed by Harry's ferocity, "I'm trying to help you." His voice was weak and pleading.

"Dying is not helping me!" Harry yelled as he shoved his glasses up so he could paw at his eyes.

"You want out of the Oath, don’t you?" Draco asked. "Just downstairs you couldn't even leave the room because I couldn't keep myself from invoking it." He winced and looked to Hermione for support, "I trust Hermione. She's the smartest witch any of us knows, and if she says she can resurrect me, I believe her."

"If you do this," Harry turned his face away, his voice shattered. "I won't be here when you come back."

"Harry," Hermione reached for him. Harry shrank away from her touch.

"And we won’t be friends anymore, Hermione,” he said.

“Harry,” she teared up and covered her mouth.

“You can't die for me," Harry looked up painfully at Draco. "Too many people have died for me. I can’t lose you, too." He took a shuddering breath and was barely able to speak, "I love you but if you do this it's over."

Draco's face crumpled. "I'm doing this because I love you." His chin wobbled as he tried to retain control. "I'm terrified you'll leave anyway if we don't break the Oath before autumn."

"Bollocks," Harry wiped his eyes again. "I fell in love with you when you still had me calling you sir." He half-laughed and half-sobbed.

Draco swept him up in a fierce embrace and buried his face in Harry's shoulder. His breath was labored and he sniffled but he managed not to cry. Harry hugged him back and was unable to hold back his tears.

"Promise me," he said into Draco's ear. "Promise you won't try do it. I can't lose you."

"I promise," Draco hugged him even tighter. "If you promise not to leave."

"I'm not going anywhere." Harry said. He released him and drew Hermione into the embrace. “You have to stop trying to save me,” Harry said into her hair.

“I’m so sorry,” she whimpered.

“Neville,” Harry released his two friends. “Next time one of us asks you to participate in a spell with us, just say no.”

“Way ahead of you,” Neville said miserably.

“I guess we should get going,” Hermione gave Harry a hangdog look and walked to the door.

“Nonsense,” Draco stopped her. “You were invited over for supper. You too, Longbottom.”

They all headed downstairs, each wrapped up in his or her own thoughts. Harry took Draco’s hand and held it gently as they followed their guests. Draco peeked at him guiltily and Harry gave him a forgiving but uncompromising smile.

The dining room was set appropriately, with four place settings at the end of the table and the remaining space undressed. Neville marvelled at the scale of the fireplace and chandeliers. As soon as they were seated the appetizer course appeared. Hermione oohed and aahed at the service and Draco seemed to enjoy the opportunity to show off the lavish display.

When they were finished they adjourned to the parlor for a chat. Neville told them that he had been invited back to Hogwarts for apprenticeship in Herbology. Hermione was still working at her summer job at the Ministry, helping with small administrative tasks and trying to make a name for herself. Harry and Draco had nothing but a life of leisure to report, which suddenly struck Harry as a little bit shameful. He thought ahead to September when Auror training would start and wondered what it would feel like to emerge from this life and rejoin society.

“Why didn’t you tell me about this?” Neville gestured to encompass the way Harry and Draco were sitting together, the blond boy’s arm draped protectively around Harry’s shoulders. “When we ran into each other in Diagon Alley, you could have told me.”

“We hadn’t told anyone yet,” Harry said apologetically.

“Besides, you would have dropped dead on the spot, Longbottom,” Draco said.

“Well I can’t say I understand it,” Neville eyed Harry curiously. “But you’re less of a prat than you used to be, Malfoy.”

Hermione spluttered into her hands and ducked her head. Harry lit up and elbowed Draco in the ribs.

“He just called you a prat!” Harry laughed.

“Don’t get cocky, Longbottom,” Draco growled.

Hermione and Neville finally bade them goodnight and exited by Floo. Draco was pensive, withdrawn and reluctant to to speak first.

"Never again," Harry said firmly.

"I know," Draco nodded, his eyes downward cast.

"I mean that," Harry grasped his chin and made him look up. "It would destroy me if you died for my sake."

Draco looked into his eyes, his gray irises comfortingly familiar. He nodded and swallowed hard. "I remember when we would have wished each other dead."

Harry drew a breath and thought painfully of a Sectumsempra gone terribly wrong.

"Come on," Draco tugged Harry towards the stairs. “You can have every Snitch in my collection.”

“Even the signed ones?”

“Every one,” Draco led him up to their suite, and then somewhere between the door and the credenza they were distracted and instead showed each other just how much their lives had changed.


	19. Chapter 19

September 21 arrived without fanfare. Harry simply woke up, gazed up at the enchanted night sky ceiling, and remembered that it was the last day of the Blood Oath. He rolled his head to the side and found Draco already awake, watching him quietly.

“Are you watching me sleep, you perve?” Harry asked sleepily.

Draco brushed Harry’s hair back from his face and smiled. “Last day,” he said.

“Yes and no,” Harry yawned and stretched. “Last day of you having the magical right to make me do your bidding. But that’s it.”

“You’re sure? You could make a run for it at midnight,” Draco’s tone was light but there was fear behind his eyes.

“The only way I’m making a run for it is if you come with me,” Harry suddenly rolled on top of Draco and kissed him.

Draco wrapped his arms around Harry’s waist and kissed him back. Their hands moved together, stroking and running up and down the length of each other’s bodies. Harry worked his way down Draco’s chin and neck to his chest, then back up to the hollow behind his ear. Draco groaned with pleasure as Harry ran his tongue along his jawline and back to his mouth. They moved together sensually and Harry felt goosebumps rise on his arms as Draco trailed his fingertips up his spine. He slipped his tongue into the dip between Draco’s collarbones and then licked and tasted down to his chest. Draco arched his back as Harry rolled his tongue across his sensitive nipple. Harry worked his way back up and paused, his mouth hovering just above Draco’s lips.

“Turn over,” he murmured with a tantalizing smile.

Draco smiled back and rolled face down on the mattress. Harry ran his hand down Draco’s arse and up between his thighs. He kissed a trail down Draco’s back, enjoying the salty taste of his skin. As he kissed the curve at the base of Draco’s spine he slipped a finger past the blond boy’s puckered entrance. Draco took it immediately and pushed back for more. He kissed Draco’s back and reached up with his other hand to lace their fingers together. He gently stroked until the muscles relaxed and welcomed his pressure. Draco moaned and tilted his hips, inviting Harry inside. He conjured a slippery slickness and pressed forward, sliding all the way home. He grasped Draco’s hips and pushed slowly, relishing the perfect alignment of sensitive nerve endings. His breath shuddered as delicious waves of ecstasy radiated through his body.

“Merlin, you feel so good,” he whispered shakily as he thrust slowly.

Draco squeezed his hand and nodded, moved beyond words by the sensation. He curved his back and tilted his hips, pressing his face into the pillow and pushing back against Harry’s long strokes. He drew Harry’s free hand around and wrapped it around his member, and Harry obliged by pulling in rhythm with their movement.

He could feel the writhing heat rising inside, starting deep within his groin and spreading outward He thrust faster, pushing against Draco with powerful strokes. He pulled the other boy, bringing him closer to climax as he desperately tried to slow his own climb. He felt Draco rise up and heard him cry out, then he arrived like a thunderclap and threw his head back with a gasp. Every inch of his body throbbed and buzzed until slowly it washed away enough for his senses to return. He slipped free and cast a cleansing spell before collapsing onto the mattress. Draco tilted his head to the side and leaned over for a kiss.

“That had better not be the last time,” he said.

“Not by far,” Harry laughed, still gasping for breath.

They met the day slowly, first luxuriating in a relaxing shower, then idling over their breakfast. To Harry’s surprise Draco served him, conscientiously not asking for anything to be done for himself. After breakfast they wandered the grounds, and then Harry entertained himself in the music room while Draco had his financial advisor and a pair of representatives from St Mungo’s over to finalize the financing of their lease acquisition. The representatives presented Draco with a copy of the petition they had submitted to the Ministry for Lucius’ release from house arrest into their care. It had been approved and signed by Ministry officials. After they left Draco’s entire demeanor was brighter, and he seemed as though a weight had been lifted off of him.

“Come on, I want to show you something,” Draco grasped Harry’s arm.

“Are we Apparating?” Harry asked in surprise.

“The limo would take too long,” Draco explained, “And it’s not hooked up to the Floo network yet. Ready?”

Harry nodded. With a vacuum-suck-pop the view changed and suddenly they were standing in the middle of a luxuriously appointed parlor with floor-to-ceiling windows along one wall and a breathtakingly high view of London.

“Where are we?” Harry marveled at the sight of the city.

“This is our new flat,” Draco said shyly, his eyes nervously searching Harry’s.

“It’s what?” Harry was dumbfounded.

“I purchased it a few weeks ago,” Draco explained, still searching Harry for a reaction. “You’re going to be traveling to the Ministry every day for Auror training. I thought it made sense to be in town.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Harry was speechless. The flat was extensive, with hallways branching off to various other rooms.

“I’m shuttering the Manor,” Draco added. “It’s my family’s homestead so I won’t be selling it, but I’m not ready to live there right now.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and cocked his head. “Is that okay?”

“Is what okay?” Harry was too overwhelmed to parse his question.

“Is it okay that I assumed you would live here with me?” he clarified.

“Of course it is,” A huge smile split Harry’s face. “But what about my lease with Ron?”

“I’ve worked all of that out with Hermione,” Draco dismissed his concern with a wave. “We’ll cover your rent until he finds a new roommate or the lease is up.”

“He’s okay with that?” Harry asked.

“Hermione says he is,” Draco shrugged.

“You and Hermione have been spending entirely too much time together,” Harry said scoldingly.

“She did the final walk-through for us before I signed,” Draco smirked.

“How are we going to take care of a place this big?”

“We’ll have Iris and Chef, of course,” Draco said. “Sugar, too.”

“You’ve thought it all through, have you?” Harry shook his head in wonder.

“So you’re okay with it?”

“It’s brilliant,” Harry grinned.

They spent the rest of the afternoon exploring the many features of the luxurious flat. It had a corridor for staff quarters, a set of guest rooms, an enormous master suite, and a bathtub that could practically double as a swimming pool. The walls and ceilings were charmed to change color and texture depending on their mood and the fireplace was scheduled to be connected to the Floo network later in the week. Best of all, it had already been charmed with Repello Muggletum so the neighbors wouldn’t become suspicious and catch them living in an enchanted flat in the middle of London.

They went out in the evening to explore the high-end neighborhood and brought back takeaway for supper. Then they watched the sun set over the city from the comfort of their new living room. As night settled in, Harry could feel himself growing more and more tense. Draco was quieter and more withdrawn, too. Harry saw him sneak a glance at his pocketwatch and finally sighed.

“We should head back,” he said reluctantly. “We should be there at midnight to make sure the Blood Oath really ends.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Draco stood and drew Harry to his feet. He Apparated them back to the Manor and they headed up to their suite to wait out the clock. They retrieved the Oath from the box beneath the Golden Snitch collection and spread it out on the table.

“How will we know it’s ended?” Draco asked.

“It should crumble to ash.”

“Are we sure it will happen at midnight?”

“No,” Harry said ruefully. “That’s just a guess.”

Draco summoned Sugar with a pot of tea and they sat quietly, drinking thoughtfully, staring at the parchment as midnight approached. The clock on the mantle over the fireplace ticked softly as the minute hand reached its zenith. Harry set his cup down as the last seconds approached and sat back from the table.

the clock crossed midnight. The parchment did not move. Harry and Draco exchanged a fearful glance and then suddenly the paper crinkled and shivered. The red-blood signatures glowed like lava, brighter and brighter until flames licked out from the markings. The Oath ignited like flash paper and in the span of a breath it crumbled into a small pile of white ash.

“It’s done,” Harry breathed in disbelief. A subtle, almost imperceptible weight lifted from his shoulders. He felt as though he had been released from shackles and was free. He laughed and jumped out of his chair. He turned to Draco with wild eyes, “Quick! Order me to do something!”

“Pour me another cup of tea,” Draco said, his eyes wide and his voice surprised.

“Say it like you mean it. Really order me!” Harry shoved Draco’s shoulder and almost tipped him over in his chair.

“Dammit, Harry, pour my bloody tea!” Draco snapped as he struggled to regain his balance.

“Sod off!” Harry shouted, then laughed hysterically. He leapt at Draco and tackled him, knocking him over in his chair. They tumbled to the ground and Harry wrestled Draco beneath him. He kissed him hard, his tongue pushing and reaching passionately. He released Draco’s mouth and grinned, “Sod off, you wanker. You pour your own tea.”

“Get off of me,” Draco grunted, pushing Harry to the side.

“No!” Harry struggled to stay on top of him. He laughed again in pure exhilaration.

“All right, are you quite finished?” Draco looked up at him with a tolerant smirk.

“I think so,” Harry stood and helped Draco to his feet. “Sorry.”

“Quite all right,” Draco smoothed down his shirt. “You earned that.”

“I did, didn’t I?” Harry eyed the pile of ash appraisingly.

“You were marvelous,” Draco said simply.

“So were you,” Harry caressed his ear.

“You’re going to be exhausted for your first day at training tomorrow,” Draco said.

“You’re right, I should get some sleep,” Harry said reluctantly.

They washed up and climbed into bed and extinguished the lights. Harry gazed up at the night sky enchanted ceiling and thought about leaving Malfoy Manor for good. “Draco,” he asked softly, “can we do that to our ceiling at the flat?”

“You like it?” Draco asked dubiously.

“I do,” Harry nodded.

“Okay then,” Draco yawned sleepily.

Harry rolled onto his side and looked at Draco’s handsome profile, his broad forehead, his long regal nose, his pointed chin. He reached over and traced his finger down Draco’s face to his lips. “I love you,” he said.

Draco opened his eyes and smiled, “I love you, too.”

“I can’t wait to go home tomorrow,” Harry said.

“Which home?” Draco asked. “This one or the flat?”

“Wherever you are,” Harry said. “Wherever you are is home.”

 

END


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